And a swine-herd pa.s.sed with his swine, Deformed; and I heard him growl; Two eyes of a sottish shine Leered under two brows as foul.

And my soul said, "_This is the l.u.s.t_ _That soils my limbs with the dust._"

And a goose wife hobbled by On a crutch, with the devil's geese; A-mumbling how life is a lie, And cursing my soul without cease.

And my soul said, "_This is desire;_ _The meaning of life is higher._"

And we came to a garden, close To a hollow of graves and tombs; A garden as red as a rose Hung over of obscene glooms; The heart of each rose was a spark That smouldered or splintered the dark.

And I was aware of a girl With a wild-rose face, who came With a mouth like a sh.e.l.l's split pearl, Rose-clad in a robe of flame; And she plucked the roses and gave, And my flesh was her veriest slave.

She vanished. My lips would have kissed The flowers she gave me with sighs, But they writhed in my hands and hissed, In their hearts were a serpent's eyes.

And my soul said, "_Pleasure is she;_ _The joys of the flesh you see_."

And I bowed with a heart too weary, That longed for rest, for sleep; And my eyes were heavy and teary, And yearned for a way to weep.

And my soul smiled, "_This may be!_ _Will you know me and follow me?_"

THE DREAM OF DREAD.

I have lain for an hour or twain Awake, and the tempest is beating On the roof, and the sleet on the pane, And the winds are three enemies meeting; And I listen and hear it again, My name, in the silence, repeating.

Then dumbness of death that must slay, Till the midnight is burst like a bubble; And out of the darkness a ray-- 'T is she! the all beautiful double; With a face like the breaking of day, Eyes dark with the magic of trouble.

I move not; she lies with her lips At mine; and I feel she is drawing My life from my heart to their tips, My heart where the horror is gnawing; My life in a thousand slow sips, My flesh with her sorcery awing.

She binds me with merciless eyes; She drinks of my blood, and I hear it Drain up with a shudder and rise To the lips, like the serpent's, that steer it And she lies and she laughs as she lies, Saying, "Lo, thy affinitized spirit!"

Then I hear--as if torturing swords Had shivered and torments had grated Hoa.r.s.e iron deep under; and words As of sins that howled out and awaited A fiend who lashed into their hords, And a demon who lacerated.

And I shriek and lie clammy and stark, As the curse of a devil mounts higher, Up--out of d.a.m.nation and dark, Up--a hobble of hoofs that is dire; I feel that his mouth is a spark, His features, of filth and of fire.

"To thy body's corruption, thy grave!

Thy h.e.l.l! from which thou hast stolen!"

And a blackness rolls down like a wave With a clamor of tongues that are swollen-- And I feel that my flesh is the slave Of a--vampire, diakka, eidolon?

DEATH IN LIFE.

Within my veins it beats And burns within my brain; For when the year is sad and sear I dream the dream again.

Ah! over young am I G.o.d knows! yet in this sleep More pain and woe than women know I know, and doubly deep!...

Seven towers of s.h.a.ggy rock Rise red to ragged skies, Built in a marsh that, black and harsh, To dead horizons lies.

Eternal sunset pours, Around its warlock towers, A glowing urn where garnets burn With fire-dripping flowers.

O'er bat-like turrets high, Stretched in a scarlet line, The crimson cranes through rosy rains Drop like a ruby wine.

Once in the banquet-hall These scarlet storks are heard:-- I sit at board with men o' th' sword And knights of n.o.ble word;

Cased all in silver mail; But he, I love and fear, In glittering gold beside me bold Sits like a lover near.

Wild music echoes in The hollow towers there; Behind bright bars o' his visor, stars Beam in his eyes and glare.

Wild music oozes from Arched ceilings, caked with white Groined pearl; and floors like mythic sh.o.r.es That sing to seas of light.

Wild music and a feast, And one's beloved near In burning mail--why am I pale, So pale with grief and fear?

Red heavens and slaughter-red The marsh to west and east; Seven slits of sky, seven cas.e.m.e.nts high, Flare on the blood-red feast.

Our torches tall are these, Our revel torches seven, That spill from gold soft splendors old-- The hour of night--eleven.

No word. The sparkle aches In cups of diamond-spar, That prism the light of ruddy white In royal wines of war.

No word. Rich plate that rays, Splashes of splitting fires, Off beryl brims; while sobs and swims Enchantment of lost lyres.

I lean to him I love, And in the silence say: "Would thy dear grace reveal thy face, If love should crave and pray?"

Grave Silence, like a king, At that strange feast is set; Grave Silence still as the soul's will, That rules the reason yet.

But when I speak, behold!

The charm is snapped, for low Speaks out the mask o' his golden casque, "At midnight be it so!"

And Silence waits severe, Till one sonorous tower, Owl-swarmed, that looms in glaring glooms, Sounds slow the midnight hour.

Three strokes; the knights arise, The palsy from them flung, To meward mock like some hoa.r.s.e rock When wrecking waves give tongue.

Six strokes; and wailing out The music hoots away; The fiery glimmer of eve dies dimmer, The red grows ghostly gray.

Nine strokes; and dropping mould The crumbling hall is lead; The plate is rust, the feast is dust, The banqueters are dead.

Twelve strokes pound out and roll; The huge walls writhe and shake O'er hissing things with taloned wings-- Christ Jesus, let me wake!

Then rattling in the night _His_ iron visor slips-- In rotting mail a death's-head pale Kisses my loathing lips.

Two h.e.l.l-fierce l.u.s.ts its eyes, Sharp-pointed like a knife, That flaming seem to say, "_No dream!_ _No dream! the truth of Life!_"

THE EVE OF ALL-SAINTS.

1.