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ed with wonder, And her eyes were full of pain-- For pure she was, and young, And it was Spring!
THE HOUSE OF LIFE
Quietly I closed the door. Then I said to my soul: "I shall never come back, Back to this haunted room Where Sorrow and I have slept." I turned from that hated door And passed through the House of Life, Through its ghostly rooms and glad And its corridors dim with age. Then lightly I crossed a threshold Where the casements showed the sun And I entered an unknown room,-- And my heart went cold, For about me stood that Chamber of Pain I had thought to see no more!
ULTIMATA
I am possessed of a great sickness And likewise possessed of a great strength, And the ultimate hour has come. I will arise and go unto this woman, And with bent head and my arms about her knees I shall say unto her: "Beloved beyond all words, Others have sought your side, And many have craved your kiss, But none, O body of flesh and bone, Has known a hunger like mine! And though evil befall, or good, This hunger is given to me, And is now made known to you,-- For I must die, Or you must die, Or Desire must die This night!"
THE LIFE ON THE TABLE
In the white-walled room Where the white bed waits Stand banks of meaningless flowers; In the rain-swept street Are a ghost-like row of cabs; And along the corridor-dusk Phantasmal feet repass. Through the warm, still air The odour of ether hangs; And on this slenderest thread Of one thin pulse Hangs and swings The hope of life-- The life of her I love!
YOU BID ME TO SLEEP
You bid me to sleep,-- But why, O Daughter of Beauty, Was beauty thus born in the world? Since out of these shadowy eyes The wonder shall pass! And out of this surging and passionate breast The dream shall depart! And out of these delicate rivers of warmth The fire shall wither and fail! And youth like a bird from your body shall fly! And Time like a fang on your flesh shall feed! And this perilous bosom that pulses with love Shall go down to the dust from which it arose,-- Yet Daughter of Beauty, close, Close to its sumptuous warmth You hold my sorrowing head, And smile with shadowy eyes, And bid me to sleep again!
THE LAST OF SUMMER
The opal afternoon Is cool, and very still. A wash of tawny air, Sea-green that melts to gold, Bathes all the skyline, hill by hill. Out of the black-topped pinelands A black crow calls, And the year seems old! A woman from a doorway sings, And from the valley-slope a sheep-dog barks, And through the umber woods the echo falls. Then silence on the still world lies, And faint and far the birds fly south, And behind the dark pines drops the sun, And a small wind wakes and sighs, And Summer, see, is done!
AT CHARING-CROSS
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