The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

ROSA IGNOTA (x1) I gaze into the calm, cool eyes of death ; I seize him gladly by his strong, calm hand; I hear him murmur, underneath his breath, Thou knowest me; dost thou not understand ? Thou hast sought Love; he hath eluded thee In the shadows; life hath worn thy soul away; Wilt thou not dwell in endless rest with me, No more deceived by hope, nor burned by day? Wherefore delay? My love is calm and sure, Not passionate, but certain of its end ; Wilt thou not come—and gladly? I can cure Alone the weariness of time, O friend. I shall not weary of thee; thou shalt sleep For ever on my breast, nor wake, nor weep. (xm) Still must I sing of thee? O Fate, delaying The last reward of unremitting toil, Give me the cup I crave! How shall my praying Avail me? For alas! I’ve neither oil, Nor wine, nor grape, nor corn, nor anything That may palliate thee! One only thing is mine, And that is but a sweet and bitter thing, Rarer than grape, or corn, or oil, or wine. I may not speak it. Yet my tongue still mutters Cravingly, eagerly, oh! desperately. What is the thing that still my glad mouth utters? I may not say it, Darling, even to thee: x N 193