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… for love, my ripe breasts beat And lay their bleeding blossoms at thy feet! Spurn me no more! O bid these strangers go; Turn to my lips till their cup overflow; * * * * * * make delight the minister of pain, pain the father of a new delight, a lamp of torture for the night to be borne without a cry eEEEij 5 a i i i PESyOsEE>ortenEenaluptrieAERfe4:aids 901)
And lovers’ lips, from lips withdrawn, Seek dimmer bosoms till the dawn. Yet on the central altar lies The sacrament of kneaded bread, With blood made one, the sacrifice To those, the living, who are dead— Strange gods and goddesses, that shed Monstrous desires of secret things Upon their worshippers, from wings One lucent web of light, from head One labyrinthine passion-fed Palace of love, from breathing rife With secrets of forbidden life. But not the sunlight, nor the stars, Nor any light but theirs alone, Nor iron masteries of Mars, Nor Sat…
…catch the blood within your cheek Mantling. You dared enough—so long ago!— ‘When to my blossom body clean as snow You pressed your bosom till desire was pain, And—then—that midnight! you did dare remain Though all my limbs were bloody with your mouth That tore their flesh to satiate its drouth, That was not thereby satisfied! And now A pallid coward, with sly, skulking brow, You must leave Sodom for your spouse’s sake. Coward and coward and coward; who would take The best flower of my life and leave me so, Still loving you—Ah! weak—and turn to …