Not Paris raped tall Helen,
But this incestuous worm,
Who lured her vivid beauty
To his amorphous sleep.
England! Famous as Helen
Is thy betrothal sung
To him the shadowless,
More amorous than Solomon.
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I did not pluck at all,
The garden is not barredBut the boughs are heavy with snow,The flake-blossoms thickly fallAnd the hid roots sigh, ‘How long will our flowers be marred ?’Strange as a bird were dumb,Strange as a hueless leaf.As one deaf hungers to hear,Or gazes without belief,The fruit yearned ‘Fingers, come !’0, shut hands, be empty another year.
I mingle with your bones:
This lighted dust .Jehovah loansAnd now I lose.What will the Lender sayWhen I shall not be found,Safe-sheltered at the Judgment Day,Being in you bound ?he’ll hunt through wards of Heaven,Call to uncoffined earth‘Where is this soul, unjudged, not givenDole for good’s dearth?’And I, lying so safeWithin you, hearing all,To have cheated God shall laugh,Freed by…
So thy soul’s meekness shrinks,
Why should she shun the world ?It is a holy place.Concealed to itselfIf the flower kept its scent,Of itself amorous,Less rich its ornament.Use-utmost in each kind-Is beauty, truth in one,While soul rays light to soulIn one God-linked sun.
They left their Babylon bare
Of all its proud horses ;They made for Lebanon.And shadowy sowers wentBefore their spears to sowThe fruit whose taste is ash,For Judah’s soul to know.They who bowed to the Bull god,Whose wings roofed Babylon,In endless hosts darkenedThe bright-heavened Lebanon.They washed their grime in poolsWhere laughing girls forgotThe wiles they used for Solomon.Sweet laughter, remembered not…
Wreck not the ageing heart of quietness,
Which satyr like to a mild maidens pride,Ripens not wisdom, but a large recoil,Give them their withered peace, their trial grave,Their old youth’s three-scored shadowy effigy,Mock them not with your ripened turbulence,Their frost mailed petulance with your torrid wrath,While edging your boisterous thunder shivers one word,Pap to their senile shivering, drug to truth,The feigned ramparts…
IN THE WORKSHOP
Faces speechful, barren of soul and sordid,Huddled and chewing a jest, lewd and gabbledinsidious:Laughter, born of its dung, flashes and floods like sunlight,Filling the room with a sense of a soul lethargic and kindly,Touches my soul with a pathos, a hint of a wide desolation.III saw the face of God to-day,I heard the music of…