Collected Works (Vol. I)

ACELDAMA 3 Vili. This is release, is freedom, is desire ; This is the one hope that a man may gain ; This is the lasting ecstasy of pain That fools reject, the dread, the searching fire That quivers in the marrow, that in vain Burns secretly The unconsuméd bush where God privily. lurks IX. This was a dream—and how may I attain? How make myself a worthy acolyte? How from my body shall my soul take flight, Being constrained in this devouring chain Ofselfishness? Tow purge the spirit quite Of gross desires That eat into the heart with their corrupting fires ? Old Buddha gave command ; Jehovah spake ; Strange distant gods that are not dead to- day Added their voices ; ITeaven’s desart way Man wins not but by sorrow—let him break The golden image with the feet of clay !! Let him despise That earthen vessel which the potter marred 2 —and rise! XI. As life burns strong, the spirit’s flame grows dull ; The ruddy-cheeked sea-breezes shame its spark ; Wan rainy winds of autumn on the dark Leafless and purple moors, that rage and Tull With a damned soul’s despair, these leave their mark, Their brand of fire That burns the dross, that wings the heart to its desire. Vp de Daniel i. 2 Oriental symbol for the body. XII. No prostitution may be shunned by him Who would achieve this Fleaven. satyr-song, No maniac dance shall ply so fast the thong Of lust’s imagining perversely dim That no man’s spirit may keep pace, so strong No Its pang must pierce} Nor all the pains of hell may be one tithe as fierce. XIII. All degradation, all sheer infamy, Thou shalt endure. Thy head beneath the mire And dung of worthless women shall desire As in some hateful dream, at last to lie; Woman must trample thee till thou respire That deadliest fume 31 The vilest worms must craw], the loathliest vampires gloom.* XIV. Thou must breathe in all poisons; for thy meat, Poison; for drink, still poison; for thy kiss, A serpent’s lips! An agony is this That sweats out venom ; thy clenched hands, thy feet Ooze blood, thine eyes weep bload; thine anguish is More keen than death. At last --there is no deeper vault of hell héneath ! XV. Then thine abasement brineeth back the sheaves Of golden corn of exaltation, Kipencd and sweetened by the very sun ' The conerete expression of the horror of the individual, 2 Morbid imaginations, which ever torment the traveller upon the path of asceticism,