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…is ended, when The poppied pleasure purples pain— Death—shall I laugh or smile? Amen! I'll wake, one last fond cup to drain, And then—to sleep again, to sleep again! 67
…rid sea; For not by any amorous tricks of wit Shalt thou regain thine empire over me. O virgin, O my sister! Hear me, death! Thou hast a sleep compelling soul and mind. Thine is the sweet insufferable breath That comes like Bessarabia’s twilight wind To bring a quiet coolth from day’s long heat, Peace to the belly gorged with blood and meat}; Stars for the sun that smote, for fire slow streams, For the simoom the zephyr’s cooing kiss, Deep sleep at last from all the evil dreams, And rest, the possibility of bliss.
… from his seat, From the white inexhaustible quiver, Smote us right through, Smote us and slew, As we rode on the rapturous river. Sweet sleep is perfection of love. To die into dreams of my lover, To wake with his mouth like a dove Kissing me over and over. Better sleep so Than be conscious, and know How death hath a charm to discover. 53
My berries from the rustling bough :— Return, and eat, and sleep. Allow For me, the silence and the night; Life, peace; and death, a welcome wight. 50
AU CAVEAU DES INNOCENTS. : 28th Oct., 1904. NIGHT, like a devil, with lidless eyes, Stands avenging over the Halls. Sleep there is none, for day awaits Tokens of toil; there is none that dies, Death being rest; there is none that calls, Voice being human; only the Fates Rattle the dice at a sombre game, Game without goal of peace or fame. Sinister, sombre, horrors and hates Lurk in the shadows, under the walls. Light deceives, and the darkness lies. Love there is none; he is child of peace: Joy there is none; she is bride of force: Thought ther…
XI, One thing makes me weep He was wise one way, and scorned sleep. Wherefore he sleeps not, does not hear That still small dreadful voice of fear. Therefore he realizes not That this is his eternal lot. Therefore he suffers not at all. XII. Luckier is he than one, a small Wild girl, whose one desire on earth Was to—be blunt with it !—give birth To children. Here she’s fairly in it! Pumps out her fourteen babes a minute; Her (under chloroform) the voice Bids to be gleesome and rejoice: *© No sterile God balks ¢hime endeavour. This sort of thing…
VIII. I did not sleep at all: but she:— O face of deathless agony! O torture of hell’s worm, to wrest From peace that miserable breast! Me, me she strikes in mid-delight Staggered and shattered at the sight, The moment that she slept. I laughed Thereat: the bowl I idly quaffed Was nectar: she amused me, so. You see, my friend, I did not know. I also slept at morn. Then, then, A low voice whispered in the den: ‘* Lucky young fellow! Brave and clever! This sort of thing goes on for ever,” IX, On earth I dreaded impotence, Age, death. You see, I h…
…s, the bewitching bud Flamed in the starlight; then our bed your bower Heaved like the breast of some alluring flood Whereon a man might sleep for ever, until Death should surprise him, kiss his weary will Into the last repose, profounder power Than life could compass. Now I tax my skill To find another holier name, some flower 38