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Page 1 of 11907 · PDF PAGE 82
…rth the store of love! I lowly bend Before thee: I invoke thee at the end When other gods are fallen and put to scorn. Thy foot is to my lips; my sighs unborn Rise, touch and curl about thy heart; they spend Pitiful love. Lovelier pity, descend And bring me luck who am lonely and forlorn.” Fortune sits idle on her throne. The scent Of honeyed incense wreathes her lips with pleasure. For pure delight of luxury she turns, Smooth in her goddess rapture. So she spurns And crushes the pale suppliant. Softly bent, Her body laughs in ecstasy of leisur…
1907 · PDF PAGE 48
… sorceress, Your face shines out with feline grace, exults, a tiger in the toils! They shall not hold your passion in: fling, fling your lips, my murderess, On mine that I may pass away, a vapour that your passion boils, A rose whose petals flutter down as cruel lips and fingers press. Hear one last careless laugh acclaim my corpse the latest of your spoils, You laughing little light of wickedness. 28
1907 · PDF PAGE 99
…f “ La Comedie Humaine” Shadows the deep-set eyes, genius-lighted. Epithalamia, birth-songs, epitaphs, Are written in the mystery of his lips. Sad wisdom, scornful shame, grand agony In the coffin-folds of the cloak, scarred mountains, lie, And pity hides i’ th’ heart. Grim knowledge grips The essential manhood. Balzac stands, and laughs. 63
1907 · PDF PAGE 80
SYRINX AND PAN YRINX is caught upon the Arcadian field. The god’s grip huddles her girl breasts: his grim And gnarléd lips grin forth the soul of him.- The imprint of his bestial heart is sealed And stamped armorial on her virgin shield, Fame’s argent heraldry despoiled. Grows dim For her the universe: supple and slim She slides in vain. She loathes him—and doth yield. Shame, sorrow, these be sire and dam of song. Fatality, O Nature, is thy name. Along the accurséd river, stagnant shame, Eddying woe, from rape and godly wrong, Springs the immor…
1907 · PDF PAGE 63
… in the savage vigour of the time, The golden youth stands in the golden prime, Erect, acute, astrain. We look and long For those bronze lips to blossom into song. He is silent. We reflect. Ourselves grown old Yearn somewhat toward that sensuous glow of gold. All this is folly. Rodin made him so, Evoked the strength, the goodliness, the glow. The form is little: in the mind there dwells Force to avail the childish heart that swells With aught that is. The golden prime is past— Aye! but a nobler gain is ours at last Who see man weary, but within…