Eternal, thence to draw the strength he needs
On earth to do indomitable dees
Once more; and they, who saw but understood
Naught of his nature of beatitude
Were awed: they murmured with abated breath;
Alas the Master; so he sinks in death.
But whoso knows the mystery of man
Sees life and death as curves of one same plan.
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[Dedicated to Frank Harris, editor of Vanity Fair]
I clothed me in the limbs of Codia,Swooning my soul out into her red throat,So that the glimmer of our skins, the tuneOg our ripe rythm, seemed the hideous playOf death-worms crawling on a corpse,afloatWith life that takes its thirstOnly from things accurst.Closer than Clodia’s clasp, Death had me downTo his black heart, and fed…
Forth flashed the serpent streak of steel,
Down crashed upon an immobileAnd brainless barrier of ice.Courage!The grey gods shoot a laughing lip: –Let not faith founder with the ship!We reel before the blows of fate;Our stout souls stagger at the shock.Oh! there is Something ultimateFixed faster than the living rock.Courage!Catastrophe beyond beliefHarden our hearts to fear and grief!The gods upon the Titans…
Come to my arms — is it eve? is it morn?
Are the streams in full song? Do the woods whisper hushIs it the nightingale? Is it the thrush?Is it the smile of the autumn, the blushOf the spring? Is the world full of peace or alarms?Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms!Come to my arms, though the hurricane blow.Thunder and summer, or winter…
I to the open road,
Which of us twoShall the earlier rueThat day we chanced to meet?I with a heart that’s sound,You with sick fancies of pain –Which of us twoWould the earlier rueIf we chanced to meet again?I jingle homely lore,While you rhyme is with kiss –Which of us twoWill the earlier rueThe love of the Hoylake Miss?Not I…
The South wind said to the palms:
But are they as warm as thoseThat Laylah’s lover knows?The North wind said to the firs:I have my worshippers;But are they as keen as hers?The East wind said to the cedars:My friends are no seceders;But is their faith to meAs firm as his faith must be?The West wind said to the yews:My children are pure…
Nor thou, Habib, nor I are glad,
But rapture drowns the sense and self,the wine the drawer of the wine,And Him that planted first the grape-o podex, in thy vault there dwellsA charm to make the member mad,And shake the marrow of the spine.O member, in thy stubborn strenghta power avails on podex-senseTo boil the blood in breast and brain;shudder the nreves…