Clouds Without Water

IV Lola. The name is like the amorous call Of some bright-bosomed bird in bowers of blue. Tis like the great moon-crested waterfall With hammering heart. ’Tis like the rain of dew That quires to the angel stars. ’Tis like a bell Rung by an holy anchoret to summon Out of the labyrinths of heaven and hell Some grave, majestic, and deep-breasted woman To bring her naked body shining, shining With flowers of heaven or flames of Phlegethon Into his hermit cell, her love entwining Into his life with spells that murmur on Black words! For one thing be you sure the same My wine is as the music of your name! Marden. Believe me, mystic maiden 0’ mine, That title shall assure the throne of heaven To you — the more so that your love divine That maidenhood to me hath freely given? Nor have I touched the ark with hands unholy, Nor with unsaintly kisses soiled the shrine: Nepenthe, amaranth, vervain, myrrh and moly Are deathless blooms about our chaste design. Not vou resisting, but myself refraining, Gives us the eternal spring, the elixir rare, That mage and sage have sought, and uncomplaining Never attained. We found it early where The Gods find children! Maiden o’ mine, be sure My wine shall be as pure as you are pure: