Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE TEMPLE OF THE HOLY GHOST.* IQO1. _ I. THE COURT PROLOGUE. OBSESSION. TO CHARLES BAUDELAIRE, ‘Car ce que ta bouche cruelle Eparpilie en lair, Monstre assassin, c’est ma cervelle, Mon sang et ma chair!” THY brazen forehead, and its lustre gloom, Great angel of Night’s legion chosen chief, Beam on me like the hideous-fronted tomb, Whereon are graven strange words of mis- belief ; Thy brazen forehead, and its lustre gloom ! Sinister eyes, you burn into my breast, Creating an infernal cavern of woe, Where strange sleek leopards lash them in unrest, And furtive serpents crawling to and fro— Sinister eyes, you burn into my breast ! All hell, all destinies of death are written Like litanies blaspheming in those eyes ; And where the lightning of high God hath smitten Lie the charred brands of monstrous in- famies, Wherein all destinies of death are written. OF THE PROFANE. Thou canst to obsess me first that Easter Eve, When, from the contemplation of is pain, I turned to look into my own heart's heave, And saw the bloody nails made fast again. Thou cam’st to obsess me first that Easter Eve ! The lustre of old jet was over thee, And through thy body coursed the scented blood § Thy flesh was full of amvrous ecstasy : Polished, and gloomier than some black full flood, The lustre of old jet was over thee ! In thy great brazen blackness I am bathed ; Through all thy veins, like curses, my blood runs ; In all thy flesh my naked bones are swathed, My womb is pregnant with mad moons and suns. [n thy great brazen blackness I am bathed ! Imminent over me thy hatred hangs ; Thy slow blood trickles on my swollen sides, The curdling purple where those poison- fangs Struck, slays desire ; and only death abides. Imminent over me thy hatred hangs ! * At the publisher’s suggestion, this volume was split up into ‘' The Soul of Osiris" and “ The Mother's Tragedy.” The original design of the poet is now restored. 66