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6 matching pages
Page 1 of 11903 · PDF PAGE 36
Of proofs and types—dull things !—for whom But you am I the lover? Bloom, O flower, immortal flower, love, love! Linger about me and above, Thou perfumed haze of incense-mist! The air hath circled me and kissed Here in this room, on mountains far, Yonder to seaward, toward yon star, With your own kisses. Yes! I see The roseate embroidery Yonder—I know: it seems to give The lie to me in throat and teeth. That is the surface: underneath I live in you: in you I live. 34
1903 · PDF PAGE 15
…his love’s epitaph, God’s worm erect on Herod’s throne? “ Ah, if I only had not known!” All wrong, belovéd! Truth be ours, The one white flower (of all the flowers) You ever cared for! Ignorance May set its puppets up to dance ; We know who pulls the strings. No sage; A man unwashed, the bearded brute! His wife, the mother-prostitute ! Behind the marionetted stage See the true Punch-and-Judy show, Turn copper so to silver! Know, And who can help forgiving? So 13
1903 · PDF PAGE 11
…all the ancient grace Of shawls, and ivory, and gems To cast its glamour, till your face The eye might fall upon and rest, The temperate flower, the tropic stems. You were silent, and I too. Caressed The secret flames that curled around Our subtle intercourse. Profound, Unmoved, delighting utterly, So sat, so sit, my love and I. But not to-day. Your silence stirs No answering rapture : you are proud, And love itself checks and deters The thought to say itself aloud. B 9
1903 · PDF PAGE 52
…ic cells. Shall this avail to stagger thought, Confuse the reason, bring to nought The rosebud, in reflecting: Hem! What beauty hath the flower and stem? Carbon we know, and nitrogen, And oxygen—are these a rose? But this though everybody knows, That this should be the same for men They know not. Death may decompose, 50
1903 · PDF PAGE 56
… me this Who can; and you who could have failed? Is it too late to extend the kiss? Too late the goddess be unveiled? O but the generous flower that gives Her kisses to the violent sun, Yet none the less in ardour lives An hour, and then her day is done. 54
1903 · PDF PAGE 77
… slowly; thoughtful he seems, Pure and happy and holy; as one would who dreams In the day-time of deep delights no kin to the day, But a flower new-born of the night’s in Hecate’s way. Love is his name, and he bears the ill quiver no more. He has aged as we all, and despairs; but the lady who bore Him, Eros, to ruin the ages, has softened at heart; He is tamed by the art of the sages, the magical art. No longer he burns and blisters, consumes and corrodes; He hath Muses nine for sisters; the holy abodes Of the maiden are open to him, for his wr…