Collected Works (Vol. I)

132 JEZEBEL; AND OTHER TRAGIC POEMS I crept like sleep toward the place That held for me her evil head ; I bent like sin above her face That dying she might kiss me dead. I whispered ‘‘ Jezebel!” She turned, And her deep eyes with hatred burned. ‘* Ah! prophet, come to mock at me And gloat on mine exceeding pain?” ‘“Nay, but to give my soul to thee, And have thee spit at me again !”’ She smiled—I know she smiled—she sighed, Bit my lips through, and drank, and died ! Her murders and her blasphemies, Her whoredoms, God has paid at last; Upon my bosom close she lies; Her carnal spirit holds me fast. My blood, my infamy, my pain, Seal my subjection and her reign. My veins poured out her marriage cup, For holy water her cruel tongue ; For blessing of white hands raised up, These perfumed infamies unsung; For God’s breath, her sharp tainted breath ; For marriage bed, the bed of death. The hounds that scavenge, fierce and lean, Snarl in the moonlight ; in the sky The vulture hangs, a ghost unclean ; The lewd hyzena’s sleepless eye Darts through the distance ; these admit My lordship over her—and it. The host is lifted up. Behold The vintage spilt, the broken bread ! I feast upon the cruel cold Pale body that was ripe and red. Only, her head, her palms, her feet, I kissed all night, and did not eat. So, and not otherwise, the word Of God was utterly fulfilled. So, and not otherwise. I heard Her spirit cry, by death not stilled : ‘My sin is perfect in thy blood, And thou and I have conquered God.” Now let me die, at last desired, At last beloved of thee my queen; Now let me die, with blood attired, Thy servant naked and obscene ; To thy white skull, thy palms, thy feet, Clinging, dead, infamous, complete. Now let me die, to mix my soul With thy red soul, to join our hands, To weld us in one perfect whole, To link us with desirous bands. Now let me die, to mate in hell With thee, O harlot Jezebel. CONCERNING CERTAIN SINS. SOME sins assume a garb so fine and white That the blue veil of Heaven seems to shade Their purity. They are winged so wide and bright That even angels’ pinions seem to fade, And the archangel’s wing recedes in night :— Ay ! even God seems perturbed and afraid Because it wears so holy a garb of light Of perfumed fire immaculately made. These sins are deadly. God is merciless For Love that joins Man’s passion with His power, And makes to bloom on earth a fairer flower Than heaven bears. Our token of success Is that displeasure toward our sin unnamed Of a fierce demon jealous and ashamed. A SAINT'S DAMNATION. You buy my spirit with those peerless eyes That burn my soul; you loose the torrent stream Of my desire ; you make my lips your prize, And on them burns the whole life’s hope: you deem You buy a heart; but I am well aware How my damnation dwells in that supreme