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Page 1 of 11910 · PDF PAGE 3
…the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.”—BLAKE. ROSE of the World ! If so, then what a world ! What worm at its red heart lay curled From the beginning ? Plucked and torn and trampled And utterly corrupt is she That was the queen-flower unexampled In gardens goodlier than Arcady. O Thou ! whose body was my lyre, whose soul Lay on my mouth like a live coal ! This time thou hearest not my song ; thine ears Are stopped with worse than death ; And all this wasted breath Of…
1910 · PDF PAGE 13
…venomously hurled Stop. My head strikes the floor ; one cry, the old cry, Strikes at the sky in its exquisite agony : Rose ! Rose o’ th’ World !
1910 · PDF PAGE 8
…s off. I have a child that claims my life To keep from knowledge of her mother’s fate, To keep from heritage thereof, To shield from the world’s scoff, To watch, stamp out the seeds of madness in her. God ! that hast held me back from hate, Be merciful to me a sinner And ward me, warding her ! As it is written : Excepting Adonai build the house, they labour In vain that build it. And Again : Excepting Adonai keep the city, The watchman watcheth but in vain. God, if there be a God, be Thou my Neighbour ; And if that God have pity, have Thou pity…
1910 · PDF PAGE 9
… orpiment, Jews’ hearts, Old women’s tongues, by monstrous arts ; But this my poison drips, without endeavour, From the mere soul of the world’s rose ! What alchemy of hell this ronyon Venus has skill of ! Wonder that I live ! This has been like a bag-pipe drone to wail Its monotone through high, low, fast and slow. It has been like a secret cancer, Forcing all servants of the life to give Their work to the usurper ; all its themes assail The main word Life ; they build their archipelago Of poison in each sea where life was holy. Their question…
1910 · PDF PAGE 12
…g wing. Of the magic swan ! I know this tune Should swell to a strong note, a triumph note Blared through a trumpet’s throat To tell the world I am no coward, or else Sob in sweet minor, soft as Asmodel’s Chant to the nightingale. I am so wrecked, so rent That one seems brag, the other sentiment. I cannot leave the present ; I will not pose There lies the rotten rose And stinks. That is the truth ; the rest is gloss. My loss was total loss. So close that rose lay to my heart, its fall Was the catastrophe of all.