Collected Works (Vol. I)

A WOODLAND [DYLL So He who ordered this shall still work thus, And ere life’s lamp shall Hicker into death, And Time lose all his empire over us, A gleam of Ifope, of Knowledge, shall arise, A star to silver o'er Death’s glooming skies, And gladden the last labouring torch of breath. SONNET FOR G. FL KELLY’S DRAWING OF AN HERMAPHRODITE. O Bopy pale and beautiful with sin! O breasts with venom swollen by the snakes Of passion, whose cold slaver slimes and slakes The soul-consuming fevers that within Thy heart the fires of hell on carth begin! O heart whose yearning after truth for- sakes The law of love! O heart whose ocean breaks In sterile foam against some golden skin ! O thou whose bedy is one perfect prayer, One long regret, one agony of shame, Lost in the fragrance, speeding, subtle and rare, Up to the sky, an avenue of Hamc! My soul, thy body, in the same sin curled, With vivid lust annihilate the world. A WVODLAND IDYLL. FResH breath from the woodland blows sweet O’er the flowery path we are roaming, On the dimples of light lover’s feet In the mystical charm of the gloaming, Yvonne! On the buds that blush bright as we meet In the mystical charm of the gloaming ! A tear for the stars of the night, And a smile for the avenue shady, A kiss for the eyelashes bright, And a blush tor the cheek of my lady, Yvonne ! A daugh for the moon and her spite, Anda blush for the cheek of my lady ! We'll tread where the daffodils shake And the primrose smiles up through her weeping, Where the daisies dip down to the lake, Where the wonderful thrushes are sleeping, ¥vonne ! By the marge of the maze of the brake Where the wonderful thrushes are sleeping. Where the brook trickles clear to the eye Below dew-spangled frondlets of willow We will wander to find by-and-by The sward of our delicate pillow, Yvonne ! Where the mosses so lusciously He For the sward of our delicate pillow. For a bride fairer far than the flower Ts the couch spread by fingers of even, The blossom of apples for bower, Its roof-tree the sapphires of heaven, Yvonne! For the bride of the mystical hour, Its roof-tree the sapphires of heaven ! With songsters the heavy sweet air Is trembling and sighing and sobbing, With meteors magically fair The sky is deliciously throbbing, Yvonne ! With splendour and subtlety rare The sky is deliciously throbbing. Sweet bride to fond arms with a sigh, Strong arms to fond bosom, are curling ; The winds breathe more musically by ; The moon has a rosier pearling, Yvonne! The stars grow more dim in the sky, The moon has a rosier pearling,