CHICAGO MAY
Asperge me, mundabor! Make me pure,
‘And wash me whiter than the snow! ‘That soon
I who have slept in a Chicago sewer
Be worthy of a marriage with the moon|
‘Oh! but the moon has purity enough,
Lustral for all the least that she might love!
Ah! then my heart flings free to flare afar
Beyond the fierce phantastic flames of foam
To Her, for strength and constancy a star,
For magick she's the moon! to Her! to Home!
“Blow, blow, thou wintry wind !"—and blow away
‘The last foul fetich of Chicago May!
PART IV—CHERBOURG
Max
Yes: Iam you, but for a moment only.
‘That leaves an ache: that leaves me less than man,
‘That leaves me more than God, too sad, too lonely
To do no matter what. Since love began
With the partition of the first one thing
‘That was itself, there is no hope to be
But the eternal grace—the queen and king
Of no commensurable ecstasy.
Ah God! I am not with you even now:
‘The New Moon shines on a divided love—
Christ! T will get to you somehow: somehow
I will redeem the affright these cold hours prove.
an