Coronilla
I
CORONILLA ! Coronilla!
Heavy yellow tepid bloom:
(Midnight in a scented room) —
Coronilla.
Southern road; muffled house ...
Later on to-night
I'll come again so quietly
By moonlight.
*****
Oh, what is that I think I see
So pale beyond the yellow dusk,
Beyond the trailing bitter flower
And reek of marrow-bone and musk?
Is it a face? — My frozen hands
Are hiding in their bone:
The stare above the little mouth;
And she and I alone.
She calls me. Oh, I wonder why.
She wants me. Shall I go?
Now is your time, my brain, to cry
The often-practised No .
*****
Coronilla, I have passed you
Seven times a day.
Why do I always take my walk
The southern way?
Although I hate your bitter reek,
I still return, and still
Long that your hidden voice may speak
Against my wavering will.
Wait for me. I will come to-morrow.
Must you have your way?
Wait, then; I will come to-morrow.
I am going home to-day.
*****
Coronilla! Coronilla!
Are you here to-night?
Seven times I've come to you
By moonlight.
Now I must feel your tepid bloom.
I'll twist your tendrils through my skin;
So, if you have a shuttered room,
Coronilla, let me in.
II
H E cooled the hollow of his cheek,
And filled it with the drowsy flower.
He has become so gentle, weak,
And feverish in her power.
Now all the sappy little leaves
Are clinging to his frozen lips;
And she has drawn the shutter back,
And drawn him with her finger-tips.
The candles flicker in the room.
He trembles by the wall.
She gave him all and all again,
But still he asks for all.
So one by one the candles droop
And close their eyes and faint away.
The yellow blooms begin to stoop:
He has not noticed it is day.
III
Now he has laid his body down,
And all his skin is silver pale;
He'll never, never rise again:
His muscles have begun to fail.
He's covered with a winding sheet.
There's yet a little time to rave,
Then he will hear the grains of earth
Drip-dropping on his grave.
Yellow, yellow is the flower;
Fatal is the bloom;
And no one any time returned
Who slept inside the shuttered room.
CORONILLA ! Coronilla!
Heavy yellow tepid bloom:
(Midnight in a scented room) —
Coronilla.
Southern road; muffled house ...
Later on to-night
I'll come again so quietly
By moonlight.
*****
Oh, what is that I think I see
So pale beyond the yellow dusk,
Beyond the trailing bitter flower
And reek of marrow-bone and musk?
Is it a face? — My frozen hands
Are hiding in their bone:
The stare above the little mouth;
And she and I alone.
She calls me. Oh, I wonder why.
She wants me. Shall I go?
Now is your time, my brain, to cry
The often-practised No .
*****
Coronilla, I have passed you
Seven times a day.
Why do I always take my walk
The southern way?
Although I hate your bitter reek,
I still return, and still
Long that your hidden voice may speak
Against my wavering will.
Wait for me. I will come to-morrow.
Must you have your way?
Wait, then; I will come to-morrow.
I am going home to-day.
*****
Coronilla! Coronilla!
Are you here to-night?
Seven times I've come to you
By moonlight.
Now I must feel your tepid bloom.
I'll twist your tendrils through my skin;
So, if you have a shuttered room,
Coronilla, let me in.
II
H E cooled the hollow of his cheek,
And filled it with the drowsy flower.
He has become so gentle, weak,
And feverish in her power.
Now all the sappy little leaves
Are clinging to his frozen lips;
And she has drawn the shutter back,
And drawn him with her finger-tips.
The candles flicker in the room.
He trembles by the wall.
She gave him all and all again,
But still he asks for all.
So one by one the candles droop
And close their eyes and faint away.
The yellow blooms begin to stoop:
He has not noticed it is day.
III
Now he has laid his body down,
And all his skin is silver pale;
He'll never, never rise again:
His muscles have begun to fail.
He's covered with a winding sheet.
There's yet a little time to rave,
Then he will hear the grains of earth
Drip-dropping on his grave.
Yellow, yellow is the flower;
Fatal is the bloom;
And no one any time returned
Who slept inside the shuttered room.
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