OLIM 55^7 3 1924 064 186 442 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924064186442 Production Note Cornell University Library pro- duced this volume to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. It was scanned using Xerox soft- ware and equipment at 500 dots per inch resolution and com- pressed prior to storage using CCITT Group 4 compression. The digital data were used to create Cornell's replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Stand- ard Z39. 48-1984. The production of this volume was supported in part by the Commission on Pres- ervation and Access and the Xerox Corporation. Digital file copy- right by Cornell University Library 1991. A- lU^f'l ifiijfn? BY THE SAME AUTHOR. Days and Nights : Poems. Silhouettes : Poems. (Out of print.) LONDON NIGHTS. Edition for Sale : 50 Copies on Large Paper. 500 Copies on Small Paper. LONDON NIGHTS BY ARTHUR SYMONS LONDON : LEONARD SMITHERS NEW YORK: GEORGE H. RICHMOND AND CO. MDCCCXCVI ** TO P. V. London, May 6, 1895. CONTENTS. London Nights : Prologue : p. 3. To a Dancer : p. 5. Ranee : p. 6. Nora on the Pavement : p. 7. Lilian : I. Proem : p. 9. II. Christmas Eve : p. 10. III. Declaration : p. 11. IV. At Seventeen : p. i z. V. Caprice : p. 13. VI. In the Temple : p. 14. VII. On the Stage : p. 15. VIII. At the Stage-Door : p. 1 6. IX. On the Doorstep : p. 17. X. Song : p. 18. XI. Kisses : p. 19. XII. Hesterna Rosa : p. 20. Ddcor de The'atre : I. Behind the Scenes : Empire : p. 21. II. The Primrose Dance : Tivoli : p. 22. III. At the Foresters : p. 23. IV. La Melinite : Moulin Rouge : p. 24. V. At the Ambassadeurs : p. 25. Intermezzo : Pastoral : In the Vale of Llangollen : p. 29. At Carbis Bay : p. 30. Autumn Twilight : p. 3 1 . Colour Studies : I. At Dieppe : p. 32. II. At Glan-y-Wern : p. 33. On Craig Ddu : p. 34. In the Meadows at Mantua : p. 35. London Nights : Rosa Mundi : p. 39. Stella Maris : p. 40. Dawn : p. 42. Idealism : p. 43. Leves Amores : p. 44. Hands : p. 46. Mauve, Black, and Rose : p. 47. Flora of the Eden : Antwerp : p. 48. White Heliotrope : p. 49. To Muriel : at the Opera : p. 50. Intermezzo : Venetian Nights I. Veneta Marina : p. 53. II. Serata di Festa : p. 54. III. Alia Dogana : p. 55. IV. Zulia : p. 56. V. Alle Zattere : p. 58. X London Nights : To One in Alienation : p. 63. Madrigal : p. 65. Celeste : I. The Prelude : p. 66. II. Before Meeting : p. 67. III. After Meeting : p. 68. IV. F^te Champgtre : p. 69. V. Love's Paradox : p. 70. VI. The Kiss : p. 71. VII. White Magic : p. 72. VIII. Love's Secret : p. 73. IX. De Profundis Clamavi : p. 74. X. Love in Autumn : p. 76. XI. A Prayer to Saint Anthony of Padua : p. 77. Variations upon Love : p. 78. Magnificat : p. 82. Gifts : p. 83. Song : p. 84. Heart's Desire : p. 85. Clair de Lune : p. 86. Paris : p. 87. In the SanAuary at Saronno : p. 88. Bianca : I. Bianca : p. 89. II. Benedifline : p. 91. III. Diamonds : p. 92. IV. Hands : p. 93. V. Escalade : p. 94. VI. Sleep : p. 96. VII. Presages : p. 97. VIII. Memory : p. 98. IX. Wine of Circe : p. 99. X. Liber Amoris : p. 100. Epilogue : Credo : p. 104. LONDON NIGHTS. PROLOGUE. MY life is like a music-hall. Where, in the impotence of rage, Chained by enchantment to my stall, I see myself upon the stage Dance to amuse a music-hall. 'Tis I that smoke this cigarette. Lounge here, and laugh for vacancy, And watch the dancers turn ; and yet It is my very self I see Across the cloudy cigarette. My very self that turns and trips. Painted, pathetically gay. An empty song upon the lips In make-believe of holiday : I, I, this thing that turns and trips ! The light flares in the music-hall. The light, the sound, that weary us ; Hour follows hour, I count them all. Lagging, and loud, and riotous : My life is like a music-hall. TO A DANCER. INTOXICATINGLY Her eyes across the footlights gleam, (The wine of love, the wine of dream) Her eyes, that gleam for me ! The eyes of all that see Draw to her glances, stealing fire From her desire that leaps to my desire ; Her eyes that gleam for me ! Subtly, deliciously, A quickening fire within me, beat The rhythms of her poising feet ; Her feet that poise to me ! Her body's melody. In silent waves of wandering sound. Thrills to the sense of all around. Yet thrills alone for me ! And oh, intoxicatingly. When, at the magic moment's close. She dies into the rapture of repose, Her eyes that gleam for me ! RENEE. RAIN, and the night, and the old familiar door. And the archway dim, and the roadway desolate ; Faces that pass, and faces, and more, yet more : Renee ! come, for I wait. Pallid out of the darkness, adorably white. Pale as the spirit of rain, with the night in her hair, Renee undulates, shadow-like, under the light, Into the outer air. Mournful, beautiful, calm with that vague unrest. Sad with that sensitive, vaguely ironical mouth ; Eyes that flame with the loveliest, deadliest Fire of her passionate youth ; Mournful, beautiful, sister of night and rain. Elemental, fashioned of tears and fire. Ever desiring, ever desired in vain, Mother of vain desire ; Renee comes to me, she the sorceress. Fate, Subtly insensible, softly invincible, she : Renee, who waits for another, for whom I wait. To linger a moment with me. NORA ON THE PAVEMENT. AS Nora on the pavement Dances, and she entrances the grey hour Into the laughing circle of her power, The magic circle of her glances. As Nora dances on the midnight pavement ; Petulant and bewrildered. Thronging desires and longing looks recur, And memorably re-incarnate her. As I remember that old longing, A footlight fancy, petulant and bewildered ; There where the ballet circles. See her, but ah ! not free her from the race Of glittering lines that link and interlace ; This colour now, now that, may be her. In the bright web of those harmonious circles. But what are these dance-measures, Leaping and joyous, keeping time alone With Life's capricious rhythm, and all her own, Life's rhythm and hers, long sleeping. That wakes, and knows not why, in these dance- It is the very Nora ; Child, and most blithe, and wild as any elf. And innocently spendthrift of herself. And guileless and most unbeguiled. Herself at last, leaps free the very Nora. 7 It is the soul of Nora, Living at last, and giving forth to the night. Bird-like, the burden of its own delight. All its desire, and all the joy of living. In that blithe madness of the soul of Nora. LIUAN. I. PROEM. T HIS was a sweet white wildwood violet I found among the painted slips that grow Where, under hot-house glass, the flowers forget How the sun shines, and how the cool winds blow. The violet took the orchid's colouring, Tricked out its dainty fairness like the rest ; Yet still its breath was as the breath of Spring, And the wood's heart was wild wdthin its breast. The orchid mostly is the flower I love. And violets, the mere violets of the wood. For all their sweetness, have not power to move The curiosity that rules my blood. Yet here, in this spice-laden atmosphere. Where only nature is a thing unreal, I found in just a violet, planted here. The artificial flower of my ideal. II. CHRISTMAS-EVE. APRIL-HEARTED Lilian, April with our love began ; Winter comes, but April violets Linger on. So the fancy of an hour. Born of sudden sun and shower. Braves the winter, and has blossomed Into flower. lo III. DECLARATION. CHILD, I will give you rings to wear, And, if you love them, dainty dresses. Flowers for your bosom and your hair. And, if you love them, fond caresses ; And I will give you of my days. And I will leave, when you require it. My dreams, my books, my wonted ways. Content if only you desire it. Love's captive, now his fugitive. All this I give you, for my part. I ask but what I cannot give, I ask no more than this : your heart. IV. AT SEVENTEEN. YOU were a child, and liked me, yesterday. To-day you are a woman, and perhaps Those softer eyes betoken the sweet lapse Of liking into loving : who shall say ? Only I know that there can be for us No liking more, nor any kisses now. But they shall wake sweet shame upon your brow Sweetly, or in a rose calamitous. Trembling upon the verge of some new dawn You stand, as if awakened out of sleep, And it is I who cried to you, "Arise ! " I who would fain call back the child that's gone. And what you lost for me would have you keep. Fearing to meet the woman of your eyes. iz V. CAPRICE. HER mouth is all of roses, Her eyes are violets ; And round her cheek at hide and seek Love plays among the roses That dimple on her cheek. Her heart is all caprices, Her will is yea and nay ; And with a smile can she beguile My heart to the caprices That dance upon her smile. Her looks are merely sunshine. Her tears are only rain ; But if she will I follow still The flitting way of sunshine Whatever way she will. And if she will I love her. And if she put me by. Despite her will I follow still. And will she let me love her ? Ha, ha ! I think she will. >3 VI. IN THE TEMPLE. WHEN Lilian comes I scarcely know If Winter wraps the world in snow, Or if 'tis Summer strikes a-glow The fountain in the court below. When Lilian comes. Her flower-like eyes, her soft lips bring The warmth and welcome of the Spring, And round my room, a fairy ring. See violets, violets blossoming. When Lilian comes. When Lilian goes I hear again The infinite despair of rain Drip on my darkening window-pane The tears of Winter on the wane. When Lilian goes. Yet still about my lonely room The visionary violets bloom. And with her presence still perfume The tedious page that I resume When Lilian goes. H VII. ON THE STAGE. LIGHTS, in a multi-coloured mist, From indigo to amethyst, A whirling mist of multi-coloured lights ; And after, wigs and tights. Then faces, then a glimpse of profiles, then Eyes, and a mist again ; And rouge, and always tights, and wigs, and tights. You see the ballet so, and so, From amethyst to indigo ; You see a dance of phantoms, but I see A girl, who smiles to me ; Her cheeks, across the rouge, and in her eyes I know what memories. What memories and messages for me. 15 VIII. AT THE STAGE-DOOR. KICKING my heels in the street, Here at the edge of the pavement I wait for you, sweet. Here in the crowd, the blent noises, blurred lights, of the street. Under the archway sheer. Sudden and black as a hole in the placarded wall. Faces flicker and veer, Wavering out of the darkness into the light. Wavering back into night ; Under the archway, suddenly seen, the curls And thin, bright faces of girls. Roving eyes, and smiling lips, and the glance Seeking, finding perchance. Here at the edge of the pavement, there by the wall. One face, out of them all. Steadily, face after face. Cheeks with the blush of the paint yet lingering, eyes Still with their circle of black . . . But hers, but hers ? Rose-leaf cheeks, and flower-soft lips, and the grace Of the vanishing Spring come back. And a child's heart blithe in the sudden and sweet surprise. Subtly expeftant, that stirs In the smile of her heart to my heart, of her eyes to my eyes. i6 IX. ON THE DOORSTEP. MIDNIGHT long is over-past As we loiter, and the rain falls fast. As we loiter on your doorstep. And the rain falls fast. Will the watchful mother hear. As we whisper, is your mother near, Keeping there behind the curtain An attentive ear ? But we have so much to say. As we linger, ere I go my way. In the dark upon your doorstep. We could talk till day. There is no one in the street. As I hold you in my arms, my sweet. As I kiss you on your doorstep. As I kiss you for good-night, my sweet. 17 X. SONG. WHAT are lips, but to be kissed ? What are eyes, but to be praised ? What the fineness of a wrist. What the slimness of a waist ? What the softness of her hair. If not that Love be tangled there ? What are lips, not to be kissed ? What are eyes, not to be praised ? What is she, that would resist Love's desire to be embraced ? What her heart, that will not dare Suffer poor Love to linger there ? These are lips, fond to be kissed. These are eyes, fain to be praised ; And I think, if Love has missed Shelter in the wintry waste. That this heart may soon prepare Some nook for him to nestle there. i8 XI. KISSES. SWEET, can I sing you the song of your kisses ? How soft is this one, how subtle this is ; How fluttering swift as a bird's iciss that is, As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice ; How this one clings and how that uncloses From bud to flower in the way of roses ; And this through laughter and that through weeping Swims to the brim where Love lies sleeping ; And this in a pout I snatch, and capture That in the ecstasy of rapture. When the odorous red-rose petals part That my lips may find their way to the heart Of the rose of the world, your lips, my rose. But no song knows The way of my heart to the heart of my rose. »9 XII. HESTERNA ROSA. WHEN a girl's fancy flutters to a man. It is but as a bird that flies and cries ; She has a winged thing's April memories Of sunshine, and the morning Spring began. Love at her heart, importuning a tryst. Finds in her senses little heed of it ; But her bright lips most girlishly admit The simple homeliness of being kissed. Kiss and be friends, or, when the kissing closes. Part, as we were together, merely friends ; Why should we weep because the summer ends. And some sweet moments ended with the roses ? D^COR DE THEATRE. I. BEHIND THE SCENES: EMPIRE. To Pefpina. T HE little painted angels flit, See, down the narrow staircase, where The pink legs flicker over it ! Blonde, and bewigged, and winged with gold. The shining creatures of the air Troop sadly, shivering with cold. The gusty gaslight shoots a thin Sharp finger over cheeks and nose Rouged to the colour of the rose. All wigs and paint, they hurry in : Then, bid their radiant moment be The footlights' immortality ! II. THE PRIMROSE DANCE: TIVOLI. To Minnie Cunningham. SKIRTS like the amber petals of a flower, A primrose dancing for delight In some enchantment of a bower That rose to wizard music in the night ; A rhythmic flower whose petals pirouette In delicate circles, fain to follow The vague aerial minuet. The mazy dancing of the swallow ; A flower's caprice, a bird's command Of all the airy ways that lie In light along the wonder-land. The wonder-haunted loneliness of sky : So, in the smoke-polluted place, Where bird or flower might never be. With glimmering feet, with flower-like face. She dances at the Tivoli. III. AT THE FORESTERS. THE shadows of the gaslit wings Come softly crawling down our way ; Before the curtain someone sings. The music sounds from far away ; I lounge beside you in the wings. Prying and indiscreet, the lights Illumine, if you haply move. The prince's dress, the yellow tights, That fit your figure like a glove : You shrink a little from the lights. Divinely rosy rouged, your face Smiles, with its painted little mouth. Half tearfully, a quaint grimace ; The charm and pathos of your youth Mock the mock roses of your face. And there is something in your look (Ambiguous, independent Flo !) As teasing as a half-shut book ; It lures me till I long to know The many meanings of your look : The tired defiance of the eyes. Pathetically whimsical. Childish and whimsical and wise ; And now, relenting after all. The softer welcome of your eyes. 23 IV. LA MELINITE: MOULIN ROUGE. OLIVIER METRA'S Waltz of Roses Sheds in a rhythmic shower The very petals of the flower ; And all is roses, The rouge of petals in a shower. Down the long hall the dance returning Rounds the full circle, rounds The perfeft rose of lights and sounds. The rose returning Into the circle of its rounds. Alone, apart, one dancer watches Her mirrored, morbid grace ; Before the mirror, face to face. Alone she watches Her morbid, vague, ambiguous grace. Before the mirror's dance of shadows She dances in a dream, And she and they together seem A dance of shadows ; Alike the shadows of a dream. The orange-rosy lamps are trembling Between the robes that turn ; In ruddy flowers of flame that burn The lights are trembling : The shadows and the dancers turn. And, enigmatically smiling. In the mysterious night. She dances for her own delight, A shadow smiling Back to a shadow in the night. V. AT THE AMBASSADEURS. To YvETTE GuiLBERT. THAT was Yvette. The blithe Ambas- sadeurs Glitters, this Sunday of the FSte des Fleurs ; Here are the flowers, too, living flowers that blow A night or two before the odours go ; And all the flowers of all the city ways Are laughing, with Yvette, this day of days. Laugh, with Yvette ? But I must first forget. Before I laugh, that I have heard Yvette. For the flowers fade before her : see, the light Dies out of that poor cheek, and leaves it white ; And a chill shiver takes me as she sings The pity of unpitied human things ; A woe beyond all weeping, tears that trace The very wrinkles of the last grimace. - 25 INTERMEZZO : PASTORAL. IN THE VALE OF LLANGOLLEN. IN the fields and the lanes again ! There's a bird that sings in my ear Messages, messages ; The green cool song that I long to hear. It pipes to me out of a tree Messages, messages ; This is the voice of the sunshine. This is the voice of grass and the trees. It is the joy of Earth Out of the heaven of the trees : The voice of a bird in the sunshine singing me Messages, messages. 29 AT CARBIS BAY. OUT of the night of the sea. Out of the turbulent night, A sharp and hurrying wind Scourges the waters white : The terror by night. Out of the doubtful dark. Out of the night of the land. What is it breathes and broods, Hoveringly at hand ? The menace of land. Out of the night of heaven. Out of the delicate sky. Pale and serene the stars In their silence reply : The peace of the sky. 30 AUTUMN TWILIGHT. THE long September evening dies In mist along the fields and lanes ; Only a few faint stars surprise The lingering twilight as it wanes. Night creeps across the darkening vale ; On the horizon tree by tree Fades into shadowy skies as pale As moonlight on a shadowy sea. And, down the mist-enfolded lanes. Grown pensive now with evening. See, lingering as the twilight wanes, Lover with lover wandering. COLOUR STUDIES. I. AT DIEPPE. To Walter Sickert. THE grey-green stretch of sandy grass, Indefinitely desolate ; A sea of lead, a sky of slate ; Already autumn in the air, alas ! One stark monotony of stone. The long hotel, acutely white. Against the after-sunset light Withers grey-green, and takes the grass's tone. Listless and endless it outlies. And means, to you and me, no more Than any pebble on the shore. Or this indifferent moment as it dies. 32 II. AT GLAN-Y-WERN. WHITE-robed against the threefold white Of shutter, glass, and curtains' lace. She flashed into the evening light The brilliance of her gipsy face : I saw the evening in her light. Clear, from the soft hair to the mouth. Her ardent face made manifest The sultry beauty of the South : Below, a red rose, climbing, pressed Against the roses of her mouth. So, in the window's threefold white, O'ertrailed with foliage like a bower. She seemed, against the evening light. Among the flowers herself a flower, A tiger-lily sheathed in white. 33 ON CRAIG DDU. T HE sky through the leaves of the bracken, Tenderly, pallidly blue, Nothing but sky as I lie on the mountain- top. Hark ! for the wind as it blew. Rustling the tufts of my bracken above me. Brought from below Into the silence the sound of the water. Hark ! for the oxen low, Sheep are bleating, a dog Barks, at a farm in the vale : Blue, through the bracken, softly enveloping. Silence, a veil. 34 IN THE MEADOWS AT MANTUA. BUT to have lain upon the grass One perfeft day, one perfeft hour, Beholding all things mortal pass Into the quiet of green grass ; But to have Iain and loved the sun, Under the shadow of the trees, To have been found in unison. Once only, with the blessed sun ; Ah, in these flaring London nights, Where midnight writhers into morn. How blissful a rebuke it writes Across the siiy of London nights ! Upon the grass at Mantua These London nights were all forgot. They wake for me again : but ah. The meadow-grass at Mantua ! 35 LONDON NIGHTS. ROSA MUNDI. AN angel of pale desire Whispered me in the ear (Ah me, the white-rose mesh Of the flower-soft, rose-white flesh!) " Love, they say, is a fire : Lo, the soft love that is here ! " Love, they say, is a pain Infinite as the soul. Ever a longing to be Love's, to infinity. Ever a longing in vain After a vanishing goal. " Lo, the soft joy that I give Here in the garden of earth ; Come where the rose-tree grows ; Thine is the garden's rose. Pluck thou, eat, and live In ease, in indolent mirth." Then I saw that the rose was fair, And the mystical rose afar, A glimmering shadow of light. Paled to a star in the night ; And the angel whispered " Beware, Love is a wandering star. " Love is a raging fire. Choose thou content instead ; Thou, the child of the dust. Choose thou a delicate Lust." " Thou hast chosen ! " I said To the angel of pale desire. 39 STELLA MARIS. WHY is it I remember yet You, of all women one has met In random wayfare, as one meets The chance romances of the streets. The Juliet of a night ? I know Yourheart holds many a Romeo. And I, who call to mind your face In so serene a pausing-place. Where the bright pure expanse of sea. The shadowy shore's austerity. Seems a reproach to you and me, I too have sought on many a breast The ecstasy of love's unrest, I too have had my dreams, and met (Ah me !) how many a Juliet. Why is it, then, that I recall You, neither first nor last of all ? For, surely as I see to-night The glancing of the lighthouse light Against the sky, across the bay. As, turn by turn, it falls my way. So surely do I see your eyes Out of the empty night arise, Child, you arise and smile to me Out of the night, out of the sea. The Nereid of a moment there. And is it seaweed in your hair ? O lost and wrecked, how long ago. Out of the drowned past, I know You come to call me, come to claim My share of your delicious shame. Child, I remember, and can tell 40 One night we loved each other well. And one night's love, at least or most. Is not so small a thing to boast. You were adorable, and I Adored you to infinity, That nuptial night too briefly borne To the oblivion of morn. Ah ! no oblivion, for I feel Your lips deliriously steal Along my neck, and fasten there ; I feel the perfume of your hair. And your soft breast that heaves and dips, Desiring my desirous lips, And that ineiFable delight When souls turn bodies, and unite In the intolerable, the whole Rapture of the embodied soul. That joy was ours, we passed it by ; You have forgotten me, and I Remember you thus strangely, won An instant from oblivion. And I, remembering, would declare That joy, not shame, is ours to share, Joy that we had the will and power. In spite of fate, to snatch one hour. Out of vague nights, and days at strife. So infinitely full of life. And 'tis for this I see you rise, A wnraith, with starlight in your eyes. Here, where the drowsy-minded mood Is one with Nature's solitude ; For this, for this, you come to me Out of the night, out of the sea. 41 DAWN. HERE in the little room You sleep the sleep of innocent tired youth. While I, in very sooth. Tired, and awake beside you in the gloom. Watch for the dawn, and feel the morning make A loneliness about me for your sake. You are so young, so fair. And such a child, and might have loved so weW ; And now, I cannot tell, But surely one might love you anywhere. Come to you as a lover, and make bold To beg for that which all may buy with gold. Your sweet, scarce lost, estate Of innocence, the candour of your eyes. Your childlike, pleased surprise. Your patience : these afflift me with a weight As of some heavy wrong that I must share With God who made, and man who found you, fair. 42 IDEALISM. I KNOW the woman has no soul, I know The woman has no possibilities Of soul or mind or heart, but merely is The masterpiece of flesh : well, be it so. It is her flesh that I adore ; I go Thirsting afresh to drain her empty kiss. I know she cannot love : it is not this My vanquished heart implores in overthrow. Tyrannously I crave, I crave alone. Her splendid body. Earth's most eloquent Music, divinest human harmony; Her body now a silent instrument. That 'neath my touch shall wake and make for me The strains I have but dreamed of, never known. 43 LEVES AMORES. YOUR kisses, and the way you curl, Delicious and distrafting girl. Into one's arms, and round about, Luxuriously in and out Twining inextricably, as twine The clasping tangles of the vine ; Strong to embrace and long to kiss. And strenuous for the sharper bliss. Insatiably enamoured of The ultimate ecstasy of love. So loving to be loved, so gay And greedy for our holiday ; And then how prettily you sleep ! You nestle close, and let me keep My straying fingers in the nest Of your warm comfortable breast ; And as I lie and dream awake. Unsleeping for your sleeping sake, I feel the very pulse and heat Of your young life-blood beat, and beat With mine ; and you are mine, my sweet ! 4+ II THE little bedroom papered red, The gas's faint malodorous light. And one beside me in the bed, Who chatters, chatters, half the night. I drowse and listen, drowse again. And still, although I would not hear. Her stream of chatter, like the rain. Is falling, falling on my ear. The bed-clothes stifle me, I ache With weariness, my eyelids prick ; I hate, until I long to break. That clock for its tyrannic tick. And still beside me, through the heat Of this September night, I feel Her body's warmth upon the sheet Burn through my limbs from head to heel. And still I see her profile lift Its tiresome line above the hair. That streams, a dark and tumbled drift. Across the pillow that I share. 45 HANDS. To Marcelle. T HE little hands too soft and white To have known more laborious hours Than those which die upon a night Of kindling wine and fading flowers ; The little hands that I have kissed. Finger by finger, to the tips, And delicately about each wrist Have set a bracelet with my lips ; Dear soft white little morbid hands. Mine all one night, with what delight Shall 1 recall in other lands, Dear hands, that you were mine one night ! 46 MAUVE, BLACK, AND ROSE. To Marcelle. M AUVE, black, and rose, The veils of the jewel, and she, the jewel, a rose. First, the pallor of mauve, A soft flood flowing about the body I love. Then, the flush of the rose, A hedge of roses about the mystical rose. Last, the black, and at last The feet that I love, and the way that ray love has passed. 47 FLORA OF THE EDEN: ANTWERP. EYES that sought my eyes, an-hungered, as a fire; Hands that sought and caught my hands in their desire ; Hands and eyes that dipt and lipt me as a hungering fire! But I turned away from your ecstatic eyes. But my heart was silent to your eager sighs, But I turned to other eyes from your imploring eyes. Hands that I rejefted, you were fain to give ; Eyes that for their moment loved me, as I live ; Mouth that kissed me : Flora of the Eden, O for- give ! 48 WHITE HELIOTROPE. THE feverish room and that white bed. The tumbled skirts upon a chair. The novel flung half-open, where Hat, hair-pins, pufis, and paints, are spread ; The mirror that has sucked your face Into its secret deep of deeps. And there mysteriously keeps Forgotten memories of grace ; And you, half dressed and half awrake. Your slant eyes strangely watching me, And I, who watch you drowsily. With eyes that, having slept not, ache ; This (need one dread ? nay, dare one hope ?) Will rise, a ghost of memory, if Ever again my handkerchief Is scented with White Heliotrope. 49 TO MURIEL: AT THE OPERA. ROSES and rose-buds, red and white, Nestled between your breasts to-night. And, lying there with drowsy breath. Sweetly resigned themselves to death. Ah, cruel child ! that would not so Suffer the perfumed life to go. But, hungering for the rose's heart Of midmost sweetness, plucked apart Petal from petal : "Ah ! " you said (With lips that kissed white roses red) " To live on love and roses ! " Well, But if the rose were Muriel ? 50 INTERMEZZO : VENETIAN NIGHTS. I. VENETA MARINA. THE masts rise white to the stars. White on the night of the sky, Out of the water's night. And the stars lean down to them white. Ah ! how the stars seem nigh ; How far away are the stars ! And I too under the stars, Alone with the night again. And the water's monotone ; I and the night alone. And the world and the ways of men Farther from me than the stars. 53 II. SERATA DI FESTA. HERE in a city made for love I wander loveless and alone, Longing for the unknovyn. Desiring one thing only, and above Desire in love with love. The beauty of the starlight dies Over the city, as a flower Droops, an unheeded hour ; Ah ! barren beauty, when no lovelier eyes Behold it as it dies. I wander loveless and alone. Alone with memory: she sings Of other wanderings ; Even London half-divine, had I but known What 'tis to be alone. Had I but known ! Could I but know If here, or here, for surely here The answer waits my ear. Some lips my lips, some hands my hands ; but oh. Could these, could 1, but know ! We seek each other, can I doubt ? For man is man, and woman kind. And he who seeks shall find. World without end ; but how to ravel out The inextricable doubt ? I am a shipwrecked sailor, lost For lack of water on the sea : Water, but none for me ; Water, but I, thirsting and fever-tossed. In much abundance lost. 54 III. ALLA DOGANA. NIGHT, and the silence of the night, In Venice ; far away, a song ; As if the lyric water made Itself a serenade ; As if the water's silence were a song Sent up into the night. Night, a more perfeft day, A day of shadows luminous. Water and sky at one, at one with us ; As if the very peace of night. The older peace than heaven or light. Came down into the day. 55 IV. ZULIA. ZULIA, my little cat, I like you, not for this or that. But just because you seem to be. My Zulia, made for me. If Zulia had a soul. Why should I care to claim control ? But no such needless longings stir That vivid peace in her. Zulia, you love, I know. The amber shawl that suits you so ; And then how could one but be vain Of such a ring and chain ? You love to dream, and feel So good, in church, because you kneel ; You love to dream of lovers, ah ! In Toni's gondola. You little Japanese, Made to be pleased, and made to please. So quaint and smiling, and so small A dainty animal ; You know that life's a game. And blanks and prizes just the same, And all we have to do is, play The game out, day by day. Zulia, those eyes were meant But to be sunnily content ; And those small kiss-curls, one by one, Kissed over, in the sun. 56 I kiss them now to-night, Dear, if you knew with what delight, You must needs know (and God forbid My Zulia ever did !) How one may prejudice The very honey of a kiss. When women catch, and men may not control. The new disease of soul. 57 V. ALLE ZATTERE. ONLY to live, only to be In Venice, is enough for me. To be a beggar, and to lie At home beneath the equal sky. To feel the sun, to drink the night. Had been enough for my delight ; Happy because the sun allowed The luxury of being proud Not to some only ; but to all The right to lie along the wall. Here my ambition dies ; I ask No more than some half-idle task. To be done idly, and to fill Some gaps of leisure when I will. I care not if the world forget That it was ever in my debt ; I care not where its prizes fall ; I long for nothing, having all. The sun each morning, on his way, Calls for me at the Zattere ; I wake and greet him, I go out. Meet him, and follow him about ; We spend the day together, he Goes to bed early ; as for me, I make the moon my mistress, prove Constant to my inconstant love. For she is coy with me, will hie To my arms amorously, and fly Ere I have kissed her ; ah ! but she, She it is, to eternity, I adore only; and her smile Bewilders the enchanted isle To more celestial magic, glows 58 At once the crystal and the rose. The crazy lover of the moon, I hold her, on the still lagoon, Sometimes I hold her in my arms ; 'Tis her cold silver kiss that warms My blood to singing, and puts fire Into the heart of my desire. And all desire in Venice dies To such diviner lunacies. Life dreams itself: the world goes on. Oblivious, in oblivion ; Life dreams itself, content to keep Happy immortally, in sleep. 59 LONDON NIGHTS. TO ONE IN ALIENATION. LAST night I saw you decked to meet The coming of those most reluflant feet : The little bonnet that you wear When you would fain, for his sake, be more fair ; The primrose ribbons that so grace The perfeft pallor of your face ; The dark gown folded back about the throat. And folds of lacework that denote All that beneath them, just beneath them, lies : God, for his eyes ! So the man came and took you ; and we lay So near and yet so far away. You in his arms, awake for joy, and I Awake for very misery. Cursing a sleepless brain that would but scrawl Your image on the aching wall. That would but pang mc ttrith the sense Of that most sweet accursed violence Of lovers' hands that weary to caress (Those hands !) your unforbidden loveliness. And with the dawn that vision came again To an untested and recurrent brain : To think your body, warm and white. Lay in his arms all night ; That it was given him to surprise. With those unhallowed eyes. The secrets of your beauty, hid from me. That I may never (may I never ?) see : I who adore you, he who finds in you (Poor child !) a half-forgotten point of view. 63 II As I lay on the stranger's bed. And clasped the stranger-woman I had hired. Desiring only memory dead Of all that I had once desired ; It was then that I wholly knew How dearly I had loved you, my lost friend ; While I am I, and you are you, How I must love you to the end. For I lay in her arms awake. Awake and cursing the indifferent night. That ebbed so slowly, for your sake. My heart's desire, my soul's delight ; For I lay in her arms awake. Awake in such a solitude of shame. That when I kissed her, for your sake. My lips were sobbing on your name. 6+ MADRIGAL. MAY we not love as others do. Dearest, because we love, A mistress I, a husband you f Nay, our delights must prove Either the double or the part Of those who love with single heart. Sweet friend, I find not any wrong In your divided soul ; Nor you, that mine should not belong Entire to one control. Let simple lovers if they will Contemn us, we outwit them still. For small and poor'and cold indeed Is any heart that can Hold but the measure of the need. The joy, of any man. Both spare and prodigal were we. To love but you, to love but me. CELESTE. I. THE PRELUDE. CHILD, in those gravely-smiling eyes, What memory sits apart and hears A litany of low replies. Love's music, in a lover's ears ? Love in your heart, a guest unsought, Unfeared, and never known for Love, Softer than music to the thought. Sings in an unknown tongue of love. 66 II. BEFORE MEETING. I KNOW not how our eyes first met, I only know that, night by night. For one long instant we forget All but our instant of delight. Child, I have never heard you speak, I know not of your face by day. Nor if the rose upon your cheek With night's spent roses faints away. So far apart from me you seem. Ever about to be so near, I must have dreamed you in some dream, I do but dream that you are here. Well, no awakening may there be ! I look to you in fairy-land. From fairy-land you look to me. We smile, and seem to understand. 67 III. AFTER MEETING. NOW that we have met at last. Long desired ! We who, waiting, never tired, All the past, We who waited for to-day, You and I, Seeing Fortune pass us by. On her way. Now our love has grown with years Three years old. We remember and behold Hopes and fears Like a dream that having been Fades and flies. As I look into your eyes, O my queen ! And I hold your hand for sign, And you smile. As if always, all the while. You were mine ; And we seem to know each other Far too well To have anything to tell One another. All was said and overpast Long ago ; We who love each other so Meet at last. 68 IV. FfeTE CHAMP£tRE. UNDER the shadow of the trees We sat together, you and I ; Our hearts were sweetly ill at ease Under the shadow of the trees. In the green circle of the grass We saw the fairies passing by ; The wake, the fairy wake it was Upon the circle of green grass. And softly with their fairy chain They wove a circle round about. And round our hearts ; ah, not in vain They bound us with their fairy chain ! With shadowy bonds they bound us fast. They wove their circle in and out ; Ah, Celeste, when the fairies passed. With what strong bonds they bound us fast ! 69 V. LOVE'S PARADOX. ONCE I smiled when I saw you, when I saw you smile I was glad. And the joy of my heart was as foam that the sea-wind shakes from the sea ; But the smile of your eyes grows strange, and the smile that my lips have had Trembles back to my heart, and my heart trembles in me. Once you laughed when you met me, when you met me your voice was gay As the voice of a bird in the dawn of the day on a sunshiny tree ; But the sound of your voice grows strange, and the words that you do not say Thrill from your heart to mine, and my heart trembles in me. 7° VI. THE KISS. THERE'S a tune in my head to-night, As I walk, as I talk, And it swoons in a whirl of light (While the day fades away) And I hear my heart as it beats A refrain, and again I am splashed by the mud of the streets. And again feel the rain. I am hushed, and I listen, and move Far apart, to her heart, I am lost in the arms of her love ; Then I hear, in my ear. Oh, what voices of men that seem Scarce amiss to my bliss. For I walk in a dream (a dream ? Is it this ?) of her kiss ! 71 VII. WHITE MAGIC. AGAINST the world I closed my heart. And, half in pride and half in fear, I said to Love and Lust : Depart ; None enters here. A gipsy witch has glided in. She takes her seat beside my fire ; Her eyes are innocent of sin. Mine of desire. She holds me with an unknown spell. She folds me in her heart's embrace ; If this be love, I cannot tell : I watch her face. Her sombre eyes are happier Than any joy that e'er had voice ; Since I am happiness to her, I too rejoice. And I have closed the door again. Against the world I close my heart ; I hold her with my spell ; in vain Would she depart. I hold her with a surer spell. Beyond her magic, and above : If hers be love, I cannot tell. But mine is love. 72 VIII. LOVE'S SECRET. AS a most happy mother feels the stir Of that new life which quickens with her life. And knows that virtue has gone forth from her To doubly sanftify the name of wife ; Yet, for her joy's sake, and because her pride Is too unutterably sanftified. And all the heaven of heavens within her breast Too dearly and too intimately possessed. Speaks not a word, but folds her new delight With a rapt silence, comforting as night ; So, when I felt the quickening life that came To bid my life's long-slumbering currents move, I set the seal of silence on your name. And, for my love's sake, never told my love. 73 IX. DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI. I DID not know ; child, child, I did not know. Who now in lonely wayfare go, Who wander lonely of you, O my child. And by myself exiled. I did not know, but, O white soul of youth, So passionate of truth, So amorous of duty, and so strong To suiFer, not to suffer wrong. Is there for me no pity, who am weak ? Spare me this silence, speak ! I did not know : I wronged you ; I repent : But will you not relent ? Must I still wander, outlawed, and go on The old weary ways alone. As in the old, intolerable days Before I saw you face to face. The doubly darkened ways since you withdraw Your light, that was my law? I charge you by your soul, pause, ere you hurl Sheer to destruftion, girl, A poor soul that had midway struggled out, Still midway clogged about, And for the love of you had turned his back Upon the miry track. That had been as a grassy wood-way, dim With violet-beds, to him. I wronged you, but I loved you ; and to me Your love was purity ; I rose, because you called me, and I drew Nearer to God, in you. 1 fall, and if you leave me, I must fall To that last depth of all, Where not the miracle of even your eyes 74 Can bid the dead arise. I charge you that you save not your own sense Of lilied innocence. By setting, at the roots of that fair stem, A murdered thing, to nourish them. 75 X. LOVE IN AUTUMN. IT is already Autumn, and not in my heart only. The leaves are on the ground. Green leaves untimely browned. The leaves bereft of Summer, my heart of Love left lonely. Swift, in the masque of seasons, the moment of each mummer. And even so fugitive Love's hour, Love's hour to live : Yet, leaves, ye have had your rapture, and thou, poor heart, thy Summer ! 76 XI. A PRAYER TO SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA. SAINT ANTHONY of Padua, whom I bear In effigy about me, hear my prayer : Kind saint who findest what is lost, I pray. Bring back her heart : I lost it yesterday. 77 VARIATIONS UPON LOVE. FOR God's sake, let me love you, and give over These tedious protestations of a lover ; We're of one mind to love, and there's no let : Remember that, and all the rest forget. And let's be happy, mistress, vyhile we may. Ere yet to-morrow shall be called to-day. To-morrow may be heedless, idle-hearted : One night's enough for love to have met and parted. Then be it now, and I'll not say that I In many several deaths for you would die ; And I'll not ask you to declare that you Will longer love than women mostly do. Leave words to them whom words, not doings, move, And let our silence answer for our love. 78 II OH, woman ! I am jealous of the eyes That look upon you ; all my looks are spies That do but lurk and follow you about. Restless to find some guilty secret out. I am unhappy if I see you not. Unhappy if I see you ; tell me what That smile betokens ? what close thing is hid Beneath the half-way lifting of a lid ? Who is it, tell me, I so dread to meet. Just as we turn the corner of the street ? Daily I search your baffling eyes to see Who knows what new admitted company ? And, sick with dread to find the thing I seek, I tremble at the name you do not speak. 79 in I KNOW your lips are bought like any fruit ; I know your love, and of your love the root ; I know your kisses toll for love that dies In kissing, to be buried in your eyes ; I know I am degraded for your sake. And that my shame will not so much as make Your glory, or be reckoned in the debt Of memories you are mindful to forget. All this I know, and, knowing it, I come Delighted to my daily martyrdom ; And, rich in love beyond the common store. Become for you a beggar, to implore The broken crumbs that from your table fall. Freely, in your indifference, on all. 80 IV I LOVED her ; and you say she loved me not. Well, if I loved her ? And if she forgot, Well, I have not forgotten even yet : Time, and spent tean, may teach me to forget. And so she loves another, and did then When she was heaven and earth to me, and when. Truly, she made me happy. It may be : I only know how good she was to me. Friend, to have loved, to have been made happy thus, What better fate has life in store for us, The dream of life from which we have to wake. Happier, why not ? why not for a dream's sake ? To have been loved is well, and well enough For any man : but 'tis enough to love. 8i MAGNIFICAT. PRAISE God, who wrought for you and me Your subtle body made for love ; God, who from all eternity Willed our divided ways should move Together, and our love should be. I wandered all these years among A world of women, seeking you. Ah, when our lingers met and clung. The pulses of our bodies knew Each other : our hearts leapt and sung. It was not any word of mine. It was not any look of yours ; Only we knew, and knew for sign Of Love that comes. Love that endures, Our veins the chalice of his wine. Because God willed for us and planned One perfeft love, excelling speech To tell, or thought to understand. He made our bodies each for each, Then put your hand into my hand. 82 GIFTS. IT was not for your heart I sought, But you, dear foolish maid, have brought Only your heart to me. Ah, that so rare a gift should be The gift I wanted not ! I asked a momentary thing. But 'tis eternity you bring ; And, with ingenuous eyes. You offer, as the lesser prize. This priceless offering. Oh what, in Love's name, shall I do. Who have both lost and captured you ? You wall but love me : so, Since I too cannot let you go, I can but love you too. 83 SONG. HER eyes say Yes, her lips say No. Ah, tell me. Love, when she denies. Shall I believe the lips or eyes? Bid eyes no more dissemble. Or lips too tremble The way her heart would go ! Love may be vowed by lips, although Cold truth, in unsurrendering eyes. The armistice of lips denies. But can fond eyes dissemble, Or false lips tremble To this soft Yes in No ? 84 HEART'S DESIRE. NOW that the dream is vanished, and the night is fled. And doubt is mine no more, now my desire is mine, I hunger for the sped delight that dawn has banished. Dawn my desire : oh, fool ! the night was more divine. In sorrow did I languish, and have I not shed Tears for untasted joys that did immortal seem ? Now hope, with fear, lies dead, and passion, with its anguish : Oh, give me back my doubt again, and let me dream ! 85 CLAIR DE LUNE. IN the moonlit room your face. Moonlight-coloured, fainting white. And the silence of the place Round about us in the night. And my arms are round about you In the silence of the night. Lips that are not mine to kiss. Lips how often kissed in vain. Broken seal of memories. Where the kisses come again That the lips of all your lovers Laid upon your lips in vain ; Eyes that are not mine to keep In the mirror of mine eyes. Where I tremble lest from sleep Other ghosts should re-arise ; Why enthrall me with your magic, Haunting lips, triumphant eyes ? For the silence of the night Swims around me like a stream. And your eyes have caught the light Of a moon-enchanted dream. And your arms glide round about me, And I fade into a dream. 86 PARIS. MY Paris is a land where twilight days Merge into violent nights of black and gold; Where, it may be, the flower of dawn is cold : Ah, but the gold nights, and the scented ways ! Eyelids of women, little curls of hair, A little nose curved softly, like a shell, A red mouth like a wound, a mocking veil : Phantoms, before the dawn, how phantom-fair ! And every woman with beseeching eyes. Or with enticing eyes, or amorous. Offers herself, a rose, and craves of us A rose's place among our memories. 87 IN THE SANCTUARY AT SARONNO. HAS not Luini writ in fire The secret of our own desire ? Your eyelids heavy with the sense Of some strange passionate suspense. And your mouth subtly hungering Who knows for what forbidden thing ? Yea, and my longings that would pierce The obscure dividing universe, To die into your heaven of love ; Our passion, and the end thereof. Love, even to the death of love. You were this martyr, I the saint For whom your aching eyelids faint In this pretence of chastity. The mystic spousal that shall be Betwixt your Lord and you, divine And deathless, does but symbol mine ; Bride of my ultimate desires, And equal flamelike with my fires ! This did Luini once record. Unto the glory of the Lord, And for us chiefly, and for all, Upon the san£luary wall. 88 BIANCA. I. BIANCA. HER cheeks are hot, her cheeks are white ; The white girl hardly breathes to-night, So faint the pulses come and go. That waken to a smouldering glow The morbid faintness of her white. What drowsing heats of sense, desire Longing and languorous, the lire Of what white ashes, subtly mesh The fascinations of her flesh Into a breathing web of fire ? Only her eyes, only her mouth, Live, in the agony of drouth, Athirst for that which may not be : The desert of virginity Aches in the hotness of her mouth. I take her hands into my hands. Silently, and she understands ; I set my lips upon her lips ; Shuddering to her finger-tips She strains my hands within her hands. I set my lips on hers ; they close Into a false and phantom rose ; Upon her thirsting lips I rain A flood of kisses, and in vain ; Her lips inexorably close. 89 Through her closed lips that cling to mine. Her hands that hold me and entwine. Her body that abandoned lies. Rigid with sterile ecstasies, A shiver knits her flesh to mine. Life sucks into a mist remote Her fainting lips, her throbbing throat ; Her lips that open to my lips. And, hot against my finger-tips. The pulses leaping in her throat. 90 II. BENEDICTINE. THE Benedi£line scents and stains The languor of your pallid lips ; My kiss shall be a bee that sips A fainting roseleaf flushed with rains. I thirst, and yet my thirst increases With draining deep and deeper kisses ; The odour of your breath releases Desires that dream of deeper blisses. And on my lips your lips now pressed Cling moist and close ; your lips begin Devouringly to gather in Your kisses that my lips possessed. The odour of your breath releases Wafts of intoxicating blisses ; Yet still my thirst of you increases, I thirst beneath your thirsty kisses. No kisses more, this perilous day. Or, tempting, tempt me not in vain : This day I dare not taste again Your lips that suck my soul away ! 9' III. DIAMONDS. YOUR diamonds on my finger glisten, Still, in the dull, forsaken room ; Alone with thoughts of you, I listen To the rain sobbing through the gloom. But what soft wandering light is this Comes flooding to a ruddier glow The warm remembrances of bliss Your diamonds on my finger know : When, heart to heart, we lay and listened. And, where the tedious gaslight rests, Your diamonds on my finger glistened In the white hollow of your breasts ? 92 IV. HANDS. YOUR hands cling softly, like a cat, Whose loving little paws will pat The loving hands caressing her; And like the velvet warnlth of fur Your soft and glowing palms compress Desire into their daintiness. Hold me, enfold me, let me rain Roses of kisses on my chain ; The throbbing of your finger-tips Is rarer to me than your lips. And your slow purple pulse that beats Against my mouth in heavier heats. Dearer, almost, than the unrest Of your dear, hesitating breast. That calls me, and denies me part In the suspensions of your heart. 93 V. ESCALADE. TENDERLY as a bee that sips. Your kisses settle on my lips, And your soft cheek begins to creep Like the downy wing of Sleep Along my cheek, and nestles smiling. As if Love's truth were but beguiling. Too utterly content to move. Only to smile, only to love. But if, to tease you, as I use, I feign, unthankful, to refuse Your dear caresses, and turn cold. Then the shy lips, waxing bold. Advance to vanquish my resistance. And, with a passionate persistence. Clinging closer, fold on fold. They suck my lips into their hold. And if, still feigning, I resist. Fondly feigning to be kissed. They wax still bolder, and begin Hungrily to fasten in Upon my neck, as they would gloat On the protesting veins that tingle As they and your deep kisses mingle. Your kisses burning in my throat. But ah ! if, lastly, I should hear Your sudden lips upon my ear Set my brain buzzing, and my blood Beating the measure of your mood, 94 And pouring over me and under Scented billows of soft thunder, I yield, I'll love you, but let be : I yield, ere you quite murder me ! 95 VI. SLEEP. AS if tired out with kisses. Content to be at rest. Here, on my breast. Her mouth, that ached with kisses. Drooped to my shoulder, then she sighed A little, smiled. Then, like a happy child. She fell asleep upon my breast. Love comes and goes, and this is (Love, that I once caressed !) Love, like the rest. And goes the way of kisses. Yet one hour lives, of all those hours that died. When, like a child. She turned to me, just smiled. And fell asleep upon my breast. 96 VII. PRESAGES. THE piteousness of passing things Haunts her beseeching eyes, the stir Of those appealing lips, and stings My senses, hungering for her, With over-much delight, that brings A presage of departing things. I drink the odours of her hair With lips that linger in her neck. With lips athirst that wander where Scarcely the rose of life can fleck The whiteness of her bosom, bare Beneath the fragrant veil of hair. Death in her lilied whiteness lives. The shadow of Death's eternal lust After the delicate flesh that gives The life of lilies to the dust. Ah, if thy lust my love forgives. Death, spare this whitest flesh that lives ! 97 VIII. MEMORY. AS a perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain. Will not leave me : all things leave me : You remain. Other thoughts may come and go. Other moments I may know That shall waft me, in their going. As a breath blown to and fro. Fragrant memories : fragrant memories Come and go. Only thoughts of you remain In my heart where they have lain. Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining, A hid sweetness, in my brain. Others leave me : all things leave me : You remain. 98 IX. WINE OF CIRCE. CIRCE, the wine of Circe ! Sorceress, I Have lived, but can your magic bid mc die? I would die exquisitely, of the bliss Of one intense, intolerable kiss. Cease these caresses brimming at my lips. While, fluttering, your magnetic finger-tips Race in a maze of circles up my arm. Silently, let your eyes begin their charm. You lean above me, and you strain me close, Pantingly close, against your breast : the rose Of your lips reddens to a rose of fire. That sinks and wavers, odorously, nigher. And your breast beats upon me like a sea Of warmth and perfume, ah ! engulphing me Into the softness of its waves that cover My drowning senses amorously over. Your eyes intoxicate me : deeper yet Pour me oblivion ! I shall soon forget Earth holds another woman : let me drain, Circe, the wine of Circe, once again ! The rose of fire descends, the stars of fire Bend from the night of heaven to my desire. And your eyes burn on mine, and your lips burn Like living fire through all my veins that yearn, As, with one throb of rapt, surrendering breath. Life dies into the ecstasy of Death. 99 X. LIBER AMORIS. WHAT'S virtue, Bianca ? Have we not Agreed the word should be forgot, That ours be every dear device And all the subtleties of vice. And, in diverse imaginings. The savour of forbidden things. So only that the obvious be Too obvious for you and me. And the one vulgar final a& Remain an unadmitted fa£l ? And, surely, we were wise to waive A gift we do not lose, but save. What moment's reeling blaze of sense Were rationally recompense For all the ecstasies and all The ardours demi-virginal ? Bianca, I tell you, no delights Of long, free, unforbidden nights. Have richlier filled and satisfied The eager moments as they died. Than your voluptuous pretence Of unacquainted innocence. Your clinging hands and closing lips And eyes slow sinking to eclipse And cool throat flushing to my kiss ; That sterile and mysterious bliss. Mysterious, and yet to me Deeper for that dubiety. Once, but that time was long ago, I loved good women, and to know loo That lips my lips dared never touch Could speak, in one warm smile, so much. And it seemed infinitely sweet To worship at a woman's feet. And live on heavenly thoughts of her. Till earth itself grew heavenlier. But that rapt mood, being fed on air. Turned at the last to a despair. And, for a body and soul like mine, I found the angels' food too fine. So the mood changed, and I began To find that man is merely man, Though women might be angels ; so, I let the aspirations go. And for a space I held it wise To follow after certainties. My heart forgot the ways of love. No longer now my fancy wove Into admitted ornament Its spider's web of sentiment. What my hands seized, that my hands held, I followed as the blood compelled. And finding that my brain found rest On some unanalytic breast, I was contented to discover How easy 'tis to be a lover. No sophistries to ravel out. No devious martyrdoms of doubt. Only the good firm flesh to hold. The love well worth its weight in gold. Love, sinking from the infinite. Now just enough to last one night. So the simplicity of flesh Held me a moment in its mesh. Till that too palled, and I began lOI H 2 To find that man was mostly man In that, his will being sated, he Wills ever new variety. And then I found you, Bianca ! Then I found in you, I found again That chance or will or fate had brought The curiosity I sought. Ambiguous child, whose life retires Into the pulse of those desires Of whose endured possession speaks The passionate pallor of your cheeks ; Child, in whom neither good nor ill Can sway your sick and swaying will. Only the aching sense of sex Wholly controls, and does perplex. With dubious drifts scarce understood. The shaken currents of your blood; It is your ambiguity That speaks to me and conquers me. Your swooning heats of sensual bliss, Under my hands, under my kiss. And your strange reticences, strange Concessions, your illusive change. The strangeness of your smile, the faint Corruption of your gaze, a saint Such as Luini loved to paint. What's virtue, Bianca ? nay, indeed, What's vice ? for I at last am freed. With you, of virtue and of vice : I have discovered Paradise. And Paradise is neither heaven. Where the spirits of God are seven, And the spirits of men bum pure. Nor is it hell, where souls endure 102 An equal ecstasy of fire, In like repletion of desire ; Nay, but a subtlier intense Unsatisfied appeal of sense. Ever desiring, ever near The goal of all its hope and fear. Ever a hair's-breadth from the goal. So Bianca satisfies my soul. 103 EPILOGUE: CREDO. EACH, in himself, his hour to be and cease Endures alone, yet few there be who dare, Sole with themselves, their single burden bear. All the long day until the night's release. Yet, ere the night fall, and the shadows close. This labour of himself is each man's lot ; All a man hath, yet living, is forgot. Himself he leaves behind him when he goes. If he have any valiancy within. If he have made his life his very own. If he have loved and laboured, and have known A strenuous virtue, and the joy of sin ; Then, being dead, he has not lived in vain. For he has saved what most desire to lose, And he has chosen what the few must choose. Since life, once lived, returns no more again. For of our time we lose so large a part In serious trifles, and so oft let slip The wine of every moment, at the lip Its moment, and the moment of the heart. We are awake so little on the earth, And we shall sleep so long, and rise so late, If there is any knocking at that gate Which is the gate of death, the gate of birth. 104 CHISWICK PRESS:— CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. T00K5 COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.