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…le child. ‘This blinking bastard lived to be A thief, a renegade, ‘To cheat at cards, to fight and flee A volunteer brigade Of Greeks, Armenians, and Jews With all to loot, and naught to lose. He failed to ogle men, but learnt ‘The art of bilking whores :— ‘The Turks, who should have had him burnt, But threw him out of doors. 19
…e, assassin—ch ?— Who rots in prison as “ Chicago May.” Her name I give you, hers! She walked the streets, And picked the pockets of her men ; blackmailed ‘Them, failing that ; a knife-thrust to complete 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
CHICAGO MAY From A runs this one tale of lust and greed — And yet you think men love you. Love, indeed1 Lie still, lie still, and let my heart run on From hate to—love. I name the one pure word ‘That she blasphemes ; her life's Satyricon Would 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…
…uck the corpse of her Into the great, all-purifying sea? Her little hand would rather, I opine, The multitudinous seas incacadine! xv If men could hear me, they would smile and say : How this young satirist exaggerates! If they could see me, they would all go gray ‘With horror, know there is no word in hate’s Roll to speak hate, just as in all love's lore There is no word for love—oh, snore, sow, snore! 1 am rigid with my hate; the brain stands still, Frozen in hate, the eyes one frightful glare. ‘Oh, may sleep save me—or the twitch and thrill …
… that, ‘While there is one fair maiden that unaided By this may fail to have her will of art And me—God bless her for her loyal heart | ‘Men hunt the ermine for its fur; ‘tis said Life's pedlars all have treasure in their load ; ‘The toad has got a jewel in its head— O Christ of God | I wish you were a toad! A toad is cold and clammy, it is true; But you 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 …