Collected Works (Vol. I)

182 TILE TEMPLE OF THE HOLY GHOST LOVE’S WISDOM. THERE is a sense of passion after death. Passion for death, desire to kiss the scythe, All know, whose limbs in envious glory writhe, And lie exhausted, mingling happy breath. * Could [end so—thismoment !? Lingereth The lazy gaze halfanournful and half blithe. But there’s another, when the body dieth -- Hast thou no knowledge what the carcase saith ? I watched all night by my dead Jover’s bed. I saw the spirit; heard the motionless Lips part in uttering a supreme caress : **T care not or for life or death ;”* they said, ‘Only for love.’ ‘* What difference ?” said I, ‘¢Dead or alive, I love thee utterly.” THE PESSIMIST’S PROGRESS.! MORTAL distrust of mortal happiness Is born of madness and of impotence ; A miserable and distorted sense, Defiant in its hatred of success. Even where love’s banners flame, and flowers bless . The happy head; all faith and hope immense Fly, for possession dwells supreme, intense ; And to possess is only---to possess. : But, as the night draws snailwise to its end, And sleep invades the obstinate desire, And lovers sigh —but not for kisses’ sake— There comes this misery, as half awake I watch the embers of my passion-fire, And sce love dwindled in my—call her friend ! 1 The obscurity of this poem demands ex planation. Its thesis is the fact that human happiness is only found in strife and aspiration. Victory’ and achievement inevitably lead to discontent, because only the impossible is truly desirable. NEPHTHYS. ‘Phere ts no light, nor wisdom, nor know- ledge in the grave, whither thou goest.”— SOLOMON, A FOOLISH and a cruel thing is said By the Most Pligh that) mocks man’s emply breast, As if the grave were mere eternal rest, Or merest resurrection of the dead. All petty wishes: at the fountain-head, A dead girl’s whisper --I have stooped and pressed My ear unto her heart---her soul confessed That aone of life her joy relinquished. **T died the moment when yott tore away The biceding veil of my virginity. The pain was sudden --and the joy was long. Persists that triumph, keenly, utterly! Write, then, in thy mysterious book of song: ‘Death chisels marble where fe moulded clay.’ ” AGAINST THE TIDE. TL KILLED my wife—not meaning to, indeed— Yet knew myself the sheer necessity : lor I too died that miracle-bour-——and she, She also knew the immedicable need. She sighed, and laughed, and died. How loves exceed In that strange fact! are we Of God’s own purpose of fecundity. Exactly! You have read the golden rede. Yet robbed (you say) That is the pity of all things on earth: That all must have its consequence again. Life ends in death and loving ends in birth. All’s made for pleasure: man’s device is pain. And in that pain and barrenness men find Triumph on God; and glory of the mind.