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?"

--When once our hearts have gathered in their fruit, To live is a curse! a secret known to all,

A grief, quite simple, nought mysterious, And like your joy--for all, both loud and shrill, Nay cease to clamour, be not e'er so curious!

And yet although your voice is sweet, be still!

Be still, O soul, with rapture ever rife!

O mouth, with the childish smile! Far more than Life, The subtle bonds of Death around us twine.

Let--let my heart, the wine of falsehood drink, And dream-like, deep within your fair eyes sink, And in the shade of thy lashes long recline!

All Entire

The Demon, in my lofty vault, This morning came to visit me, And striving me to find at fault, He said, "Fain would I know of thee;

"Among the many beauteous things, --All which _her_ subtle grace proclaim-- Among the dark and rosy things, Which go to make her charming frame,

"Which is the sweetest unto thee"?

My soul! to Him thou didst retort-- "Since all with her is destiny, Of preference there can be nought.

When all transports me with delight, If aught deludes I can not know, She either lulls one like the Night, Or dazzles like the Morning-glow.

That harmony is too divine, Which governs all her body fair, For powerless mortals to define In notes the many concords there.

O mystic metamorphosis Of all my senses blent in one!

Her voice a beauteous perfume is, Her breath makes music, chaste and wan.

Sonnet XLIII

What sayest thou, to-night, poor soul so drear, What sayest--heart erewhile engulfed in gloom, To the very lovely, very chaste, and very dear, Whose G.o.d-like look hath made thee to re-bloom?

To her, with pride we chant an echoing Hymn, For nought can touch the sweetness of her sway; Her flesh ethereal as the seraphim, Her eyes with robe of light our souls array.

And be it in the night, or solitude, Among the streets or 'mid the mult.i.tude, Her shadow, torch-like, dances in the air,

And murmurs, "I, the Beautiful proclaim-- That for my sake, alone ye love the Fair; I am the Guardian Angel, Muse and Dame!"

The Living Torch

They stand before me now, those eyes that shine, No doubt inspired by an Angel wise; They stand, those G.o.d-like brothers that are mine, And pour their diamond fires in mine eyes.

From all transgressions, from all snares, they save, Towards the Path of Joy they guide my ways; They are my servants, and I am their slave; And all my soul, this living torch obeys.