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…u are hot and sticky, and smell too. VIIL ““T thought I was worth something!” Yes, you are; ‘Worth what the jeweller and the old-clothes-man ‘And the pork-butcher offer. Soul's a star, (And that is why no woman ever loathes man.) Tf you've that star, how could I “ guess it, say,” From the inspection of your Milky Way?
CHICAGO MAY PART II—LONDON Jaxvary I Ap yet I have been faithful : T have tried All a man might to wake a soul within The lazar life of you, sought single-eyed Salvation for you—even through your sin, Alas! you cannot sin ; for sin means will. Chicago May can only gorge and swill. ‘Oh! T have flamed at you, thrust deep my ki Into the fat about your hampered heart! I would have taken you to be my wife; T would have doctored you with love and art. With the first quarter-glass of dry champagne ‘The rift that was clouds hopelessly again. Ah, but I …
…mplete Her repertory. That's all. I think she failed To match your speech and breath : and you could rise To steal the pennies offa dead man's eyes. 13
…taint all speech! Yet “love,” obscenely purred From whiskered lips, stillsends my spi To God from all this miry martyrdom. ‘There is a woman, true, fair, wise, and young, Her soul one flame for art and song, her soul Pure as the trilling musick of her tongue, Her heart one flame—for me. The single goal Of this great purgatory of mine is she. God grant her hope to her, and mine to me! fa) ‘Thou all-beholding sun, whose beams Comfort the just and the unjust, Wake me from all these evil dreams Of this grey globe of greed and lust! Ah ! that is les…
…st foul fetich of Chicago May! PART IV—CHERBOURG Max Yes: Iam you, but for a moment only. ‘That leaves an ache: that leaves me less than man, ‘That leaves me more than God, too sad, too lonely To do no matter what. Since love began With the partition of the first one thing ‘That was itself, there is no hope to be But the eternal grace—the queen and king Of no commensurable ecstasy. Ah God! I am not with you even now: ‘The New Moon shines on a divided love— Christ! T will get to you somehow: somehow I will redeem the affright these cold hours pr…
… one nice ‘Would dignify with the fine name of vice. ‘Vice needs imagination all the time. Tt is because the common pleasures pall ‘That man turns to monstrosity and crime. But you have need of none of this at all. ‘You like “what's natural.” Right: for you, in sum, Like Nature's self, abhor a vacuum! Oh, but there's mind! ‘There's folk that have a brain, ‘That need the food of spirit and of heart. There's folk that need love, pity, peace; disdain All that lacks beauty, passion, wit, and art. Yours is a mind that does not hesitate To find a wor…
…nds Once, a pure fount to which a boy clung hard ‘And held them with his soft, strong, tiny hands? Well, history says it happened. But a man After all doesn't want to kiss Queen Anne! Ix fall Earth's hateful names I most abhor ‘The name of Mary. "Tis a bleat. Of course You must be Mary. Was there not one sore God could have spared to such a willing horse? Turn stripes to satire! So the only way Has been to cut the R out, and say “* May.” R, “the dog’s letter.” Why you are all R's! —I pray you pardon the two-pointed prong— ‘Must you keep up the …
… never falter! never fail! forget No second of the wonders that are past, Foresee the greater wonders may be yet— ‘Nail Love, the Son of Man, to murder's mast! Let us be something unachieved before, Something intolerable, something new! Who was the fool that preened himself and swore ‘There was no further destiny to do? ‘Why, every thought is a new spasm of sun! Is there a new or old in love? What odds, Since every one of us—yea, every one !— Is beyond doubt the darling of the gods? ‘Why then, let us die young, let us die young! Come, Laylah, I…
…s us! ‘May God excite each hour to holy joy ‘That breaks the bestially monotonous Madness and shame of your own boy, your boy That is no man, no beast, not even God In those pale hours that you and he apart Drain the black poison of the period, Smite all damnation into either heart— (© Jesus! is there pity, is there none? Is there no peace, no passion in the sky? Is there no fervour in the blasting sun To make a symphony of sympathy? ‘Oh, but if I were only with you—when ?— ‘Who knows if all our passion would suffice Us who were forced—we, Layl…