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Oh! heart of amber and fine gold Silverly darting lunar rays! Oh! river of sweet passion rolled Adown invisible waterways ! Speak! Did I wound you then unguessed ? What is the sorrow unexpressed That shadows those ecstatic lids? A word in season subtly rids The heart of thoughts unseasonable. You are silent. Do they speak in hell ? 10
We love, and keep ourselves apart : Mouth unto mouth, heart unto heart, Thus ever, never otherwise. The soul is out of me, and swings In desperate and strange surmise About the inmost heart of things. This is all strange : but is not life, Death, all, most strange, not to be told, Not to be understood by strife Of brain, nor bought for gleaming gold, Nor known by aught but love? And love Far from resolving soul to sense, Stands isolated and above Immaculate, alone, intense, Concentrate on itself. But should The lesser leave me, as it might ; Th…
…n, no doubt, were torn away One, a minute distemperature. I spend a fraction of the day Plying the art of manicure. But always beats the heart: the more I polish, tint, or carve, I ask Strength from the heart’s too generous store To bend my fingers to the task. Cease : I am broken: nought remains. The brain’s electric waves are still ; No blood beats eager in the veins; The mind sinks deathward, and the will. It is no figure of boy’s speech, Lover's enthusiasm, rhyme Magniloquent of bard, to reach Truth through the husk of space and time: No tr…
…re Of far unstained eternity ! There we will rest. Beware! Beware! For I am young, and you are fair. Nay! Iam old in this, you know! Ah! heart of God! I love you so! 55
…ic—is the saying hard? “Shall “Cryptic Coptic” block the birth ofholy ecstasy? Forbid, Ye Gods, forbid! Posed block, you fail Co bulging heart by drooping li. can you not serve as finger-nail? ‘Ay! God ofscissors! barber God! ‘My earlier mystery did you learn? Unshoe the aching pseudopod ! Mysterious donkey, chew or churn Your human-kindness-milk to butter ! gave you gratis God's advice (Since God's responsible) to—mutter In gutter, pay your tithe to vice Since virtue kicks you down its stairs. So thus I clothed it in strange word To catch you …
… the smile disputes The forehead’s temple with the frown, When gravitation’s arrow shoots, And stockings happen to slip down. You are my heart: the central fire Whereby my being burns and moves, The mainspring of my life’s desire, The essential engine that approves 35
…y and ancient hills, the scalps Of hoary hills, the rattling shock Of avalanche adown the hills— Why, what but you, your image, fills My heart in these? I want you there. For whom but you do I ply pen, Talk with unmentionable men E 33
…n you.” There, you are foolish. And you know The thing I meant to say. O love! What little lightnings serve to show Glimpses of all your heart! Above All, and beneath all, lies there deep, Canopied over with young sleep, 52
Forget your silly self, and store Its vital horror, stabbed and spurred ‘To fearful pace and torture wild Deep in your true heart's core, my child! For though I strip you bare, and run My red-hot iron through your flesh, ‘There is a citadel that none May touch—not God! The rotten rest Evacuate; be seated there, Let there be music, and Rome burn ‘Then you may climb to be aware How well you serve my idle turn, Yet to yourself avail. There too Lies a last doubtful chance for you. Behold who dare! (Ay, you are fain!) Purblind with prejudice? No vis…
…ut a sheath? Did he ply forceps, scalpel, saw, Tear all the grace of form apart, Intent to catch some final law Behind the engine of the heart? He tried not ; whoso has, has failed. So, did I pry beneath the robe, Till stubborn will availed, nor quailed, Intimate with the naked probe ? I know the husks to strip ; name, form, Sensation, then perception, stress Of nature thither; last, the swarm Of honey-bees called consciousness. These change and shape a myriad shapes. Diverse are these, not one at all. What gain I if my scalpel scrapes, Turning…
…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 wrath is grown still ; His eyes with weeping are dim; he hath changed his will. 75