ROSA IGNOTA
She cried: “I bring you wonder from the skies,
And star-lit lilies, and pale, purple roses;
Roses; still roses ; still the intoxication
Of the scent of the world; the virgin still unborn
To this riot of life, this sensuous crash of things,
This fulsome fever fretting out her life.”
So! It is said! No more may I unveil
The mystery! The way is hidden from me.
I know not; but the aching dream still stays,
Burning me up to death; the cool, strong death,
Even death I shall slay in the cool, strong colonnades:
I shall bear the Rose of life to the heart of death.
And death shall lead me back to the shadowy river,
The murmuring waters shall mock me then no more.
I shall know, and knowing I shall strive again,
Shall ever strive until the petals fall!
There is no way for me, my darling, now,
Save one ; the hour is passed, and I have chosen.
I have chosen, and the mellow river calls
Insistently; the darkness grows more deep,
And night more luminous, yielding me her heart.
For I have chosen: it is over now.
We are one for ever, O my secret Rose,
Pale phantom of the vastest god of rest,
His wandering ghost, obsessed by space and time,
Set free, a torment to the rolling worlds.
And Life, a foe for ever more of Time
Springs still, the ghost of No Thing. Oh, sweet hour
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