Part 3 (1/2)

The Balcony

Oh, Mother of Memories! Mistress of Mistresses!

Oh, thou all my pleasures, oh, thou all my prayers!

Can'st thou remember those luscious caresses, The charm of the hearth and the sweet evening airs?

Oh, Mother, of Memories, Mistress of Mistresses!

Those evenings illumed by the glow of the coal, And those roseate nights with their vaporous wings, How calm was thy breast and how good was thy soul, 'Twas then we uttered imperishable things, Those evenings illumed by the glow of the coal.

How lovely the suns on those hot, autumn nights!

How vast were the heavens! and the heart how hale!

As I leaned towards you--oh, my Queen of Delights, The scent of thy blood I seemed to inhale.

How lovely the sun on those hot, autumn nights!

The shadows of night-time grew dense like a pall, And deep through the darkness thine eyes I divined, And I drank of thy breath--oh sweetness, oh gall, And thy feet in my brotherly hands reclined, The shadows of Night-time grew dense like a pall.

I know how to call forth those moments so dear, And to live my Past--laid on thy knees--once more, For where should I seek for thy beauties but here In thy langorous heart and thy body so pure?

I know how to call forth those moments so dear.

Those perfumes, those infinite kisses and sighs, Are they born in some gulf to our plummets denied?

Like rejuvenate suns that mount up to the skies, That first have been cleansed in the depths of the tide; Oh, perfumes! oh, infinite kisses and sighs!

The Possessed One

The sun is enveloped in c.r.a.pe! like it, O Moon of my Life! wrap thyself up in shade; At will, smoke or slumber, be silent, be staid, And dive deep down in Dispa.s.sion's dark pit.

I cherish thee thus! But if 'tis thy mood, Like a star that from out its penumbra appears, To float in the regions where madness careers, Fair dagger! burst forth from thy sheath! 'tis good.

Yea, light up thine eyes at the Fire of Renown!

Or kindle desire by the looks of some clown!

Thine All is my joy, whether dull or aflame!

Just be what thou wilt, black night, dawn divine, There is not a nerve in my trembling frame But cries, ”I adore thee, Beelzebub mine!”

Semper Eadem

”From whence it comes, you ask, this gloom acute, Like waves that o'er the rocky headland fall?”