We are alone—are quite alone
Beneath the heavy canopy,
Only the crimson light, far-thrown
From the dim lamp gleams fitfully.
Now passion's rites have all been paid;
Lean back in silence, gently, thus,
Until my dreaming eyes have strayed
Above your beauty luminous.
The sinuous glory of your hair,
The chiselled marble of your breast,
And, but for soft-showered rose-leaves bare,
Each secret nook where love may rest.
I gaze in silence: you have stilled
The hunger of my soul's disease,
Your body is with wonders filled,
And you creation's masterpiece.
O mystery, O miracle,
Shall I extol your love or rue?
For you are heaven, and you are hell,
And God and beast are both in you.
You stood beside the Cross of shame
When wavering manhood failed and fled—
And yet I know you for the same
That tempted Satan to her bed!
So short your memory, Magdalene?
Think you no longer of the day
His word went through you like the keen
Sharp sword of judgment, and you lay
Before His feet with unbound hair
Who cleansed you of your leprosy,
And made a woman's womb to bear
The Godhead's awful majesty?
But ah! the fever in your breast
Craved not alone such holy grace;
Sin was your raiment, and your quest
Was evil, and your purpose base.
Your kisses taught our primal sire
The meaning and the might of lust,
O Lilith, half enchantress dire,
Half monster coiling in the dust.
Vultures that wheel where carrion lies,
All vices followed in your train,
As vermin round the God of Flies;
Of fruit proscribed your lips were fain.
Strange fires of lust would leap and war
Beneath your bosom's ivory.
The white bull trembled when from far
He heard your step, Pasiphae!
In Mitylene's mountain glades
You breathed soft music on the pale
Breast-blossoms of your Lesbian maids,
O sweet-mouthed Sappho, and the bale
Of barren passion held you thrall,
And in far Syria turned your heart
To brown-limbed lads upon the wall
Imprisoned by the painter's art.
And grisly tales the Nile could tell
Of boys that dreamed a maddening dream,
And how a lifeless body fell
Each night into the silent stream.
To-day, amid the sullen sands
Where once was Isis' temple vast,
The Sphinx your dreadful image stands,
Eternal symbol of your past!
When Rome's imperial crown adorned
Your head, still sin was law to you:
No meanest slave's embrace you scorned,
The very streets your orgies knew.
Practiced in every wanton wile,
Your heart a lazar-house impure,
You made the name Faustina vile—
The serpent was your paramour!
With mystic dye your tresses stained,
You watched to death the Baptist pass,
And with your boon damnation gained,
O daughter of Herodias!
And when the road to Calvary
For you the Incarnate Saviour trod,
You grieved not that He went to die
But spat upon the face of God!
Long years have passed, the softly-curved
Sweet lips have kissed full many a lord;
But Sin, the master you have served,
Grants endless youth for your reward.
Eternal Woman! Good nor ill
Has left its stamp on charms like these:
Your body is a wonder still,
And you creation's masterpiece!
Away with visions that recall
Your nameless lust, your stranger woes,
For whiter than the first snowfall
Your immemorial beauty glows.
Lean back in all your loveliness
Soft-bedded where red roses bleed:
A fool who would your secret guess,
And who has guessed it—poor indeed!
Beneath the heavy canopy,
Only the crimson light, far-thrown
From the dim lamp gleams fitfully.
Now passion's rites have all been paid;
Lean back in silence, gently, thus,
Until my dreaming eyes have strayed
Above your beauty luminous.
The sinuous glory of your hair,
The chiselled marble of your breast,
And, but for soft-showered rose-leaves bare,
Each secret nook where love may rest.
I gaze in silence: you have stilled
The hunger of my soul's disease,
Your body is with wonders filled,
And you creation's masterpiece.
O mystery, O miracle,
Shall I extol your love or rue?
For you are heaven, and you are hell,
And God and beast are both in you.
You stood beside the Cross of shame
When wavering manhood failed and fled—
And yet I know you for the same
That tempted Satan to her bed!
So short your memory, Magdalene?
Think you no longer of the day
His word went through you like the keen
Sharp sword of judgment, and you lay
Before His feet with unbound hair
Who cleansed you of your leprosy,
And made a woman's womb to bear
The Godhead's awful majesty?
But ah! the fever in your breast
Craved not alone such holy grace;
Sin was your raiment, and your quest
Was evil, and your purpose base.
Your kisses taught our primal sire
The meaning and the might of lust,
O Lilith, half enchantress dire,
Half monster coiling in the dust.
Vultures that wheel where carrion lies,
All vices followed in your train,
As vermin round the God of Flies;
Of fruit proscribed your lips were fain.
Strange fires of lust would leap and war
Beneath your bosom's ivory.
The white bull trembled when from far
He heard your step, Pasiphae!
In Mitylene's mountain glades
You breathed soft music on the pale
Breast-blossoms of your Lesbian maids,
O sweet-mouthed Sappho, and the bale
Of barren passion held you thrall,
And in far Syria turned your heart
To brown-limbed lads upon the wall
Imprisoned by the painter's art.
And grisly tales the Nile could tell
Of boys that dreamed a maddening dream,
And how a lifeless body fell
Each night into the silent stream.
To-day, amid the sullen sands
Where once was Isis' temple vast,
The Sphinx your dreadful image stands,
Eternal symbol of your past!
When Rome's imperial crown adorned
Your head, still sin was law to you:
No meanest slave's embrace you scorned,
The very streets your orgies knew.
Practiced in every wanton wile,
Your heart a lazar-house impure,
You made the name Faustina vile—
The serpent was your paramour!
With mystic dye your tresses stained,
You watched to death the Baptist pass,
And with your boon damnation gained,
O daughter of Herodias!
And when the road to Calvary
For you the Incarnate Saviour trod,
You grieved not that He went to die
But spat upon the face of God!
Long years have passed, the softly-curved
Sweet lips have kissed full many a lord;
But Sin, the master you have served,
Grants endless youth for your reward.
Eternal Woman! Good nor ill
Has left its stamp on charms like these:
Your body is a wonder still,
And you creation's masterpiece!
Away with visions that recall
Your nameless lust, your stranger woes,
For whiter than the first snowfall
Your immemorial beauty glows.
Lean back in all your loveliness
Soft-bedded where red roses bleed:
A fool who would your secret guess,
And who has guessed it—poor indeed!