Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE COURT OF THE PROFANE 183 STYX. (TO M. M. M.) ‘The number nine is sacred, as the Oracles inform us, and attaineth the summits of philosophy.”—ZoROASTER,. NINE times I kissed my lover in her sleep : The first time, to make sure that she was there ; The second, as a sleepy sort of prayer 3 The third, because I wished that she should weep 5 The fourth, to draw her kisses and to keep; The fifth, for love; the sixth, in sweet despair ; The seventh, to destroy us unaware 3 The eighth, to dive within the infernal deep. The last, to kill her-—-and myself as well! Ah! joy of sweet annihilation, The blackness that invades the burning sun, My swart limbs and her limbs adorable ! So nine times dead before the night is done, Even as Styx nine times embraces Hell. LOVE, MELANCHIOLY, DESPAIR! Derr melancholy—O, the child of folly !— Looms on my brow, a perched ancestral bird ; Biack are its plumes, its eyes melancholy, It speaks no word. Like to a star, deep beauty’s avatar 2 Pales in the dusky skies so far above : Seven rays of gladness crown its passionate Star, One heart of love. ! This poem is partially composed on Mr. Poe's scheme of verse—zzde ‘‘ The Philosophy of Composition.”—A, C. * Incarnation, The fringing trees, marge of deep-throated Seas, Move as I walk: lke spectres whispering The spaces of them: let me leave the trees— It is not spring ! Spring —no! but dying autumn fast and flying, Sere leaves breast ! There is the winter—were I sure in dying To find some rest ! and frozen robins in my There is a shallop—how the breakers gallop, Grinding to dust the unresisting shore, A moon-mad thought to wander in the shallop ! Act—think no more ! Pale as a ghost I leave the sounding coast, The waters white with moonrise. I embark, Float on to the horizon as a ghost, Confront the dark. The cadent curve of Dian seems to swerve, Eluding helmeraft : let me drift away Where sea and sky unite their clamorous curve In praise of Day. Isitan edge? Some spray-bechiselled ledge? Some sentry platform to an under sky? Let me drift onward to the azure edge— I can but die! The moon hath seen! An arrow cold and keen Brings some cold being from the water chill, Rising between me and the world—-unseen, Most terrible. Dawns that unheard-of terror! Never a word of The spells that chain ill spirits I re- member. And oh! my soul! What hands of ice un- heard-of Disturb, dismember !