Oracles

38 ODE TO VENUS CALLIPYGE Who like thyself shall command our ways ? Who has such pleasures and pains for hire ? Who can awake such a mortal fire In the veins of a man, that deathly days Have robbed of the masteries of desire ? Who can give garlands of fadeless bays Unto the sorrow and pain we praise ? Yea, we must praise, though the deadly shade Fall on the morrow, though fires of hell Harrow our vitals ; a miracle Springs at thy kisses, for thou hast made Anguish and sorrow desirable ; Torment of hell as the leaves that fade Quickly forgotten, despised, decayed. They are decayed, but thou springest again, Mother of mystery, barren, who bearest Flowers of most comeliest children, who wearest Wounds for delight, whose desire shall stain Star-space with blood as the price thou sharest Sweet with thy lovers, whose passing pain Ripens to marvellous after-gain. Thou art the fair, the wise, the divine ! Thou art our mother, our goddess, our life ! Thou art our passion, our sorrow, our strife ! Thou, on whose forehead no lights ever shine, Thou, our redeemer, our mistress, our wife, Thou, barren sister of deathlier brine, Venus Callipyge, mother of mine !