Nirvana Days Part 11

Ha, is it cracking of ice in the bog That is clutching my throat, Or devils gnawing the widow's shoat?

By the Cross of the Christ, There's a fog that is black As--U-r-r!--at my back!-- They are dragging me ... down to ... h.e.l.l!

QUARREL

And is it so That two who stand Heart closed in heart, Hand knit to hand, Can let love go Asunder, so?

Speak hard--not understand?

That one asks much?

One gives too small?

And so is lost, It may be--All?

That for a touch Of pride we such A heaven can let fall?

No!--But to Fate Say with me, "Go: Death may bring dross But this I know; _Love can abate Life's harshest hate, So loving I bend low._"

OF THE FLESH

(_At Monte Carlo_)

We met upon the street; Quick pa.s.sion sprung into the eye of each; No dilettante heat!

For though I do not love her now, beseech You, signor, do you think We could face so in any spot, nor fear To leap the fatal brink Into each other's arms--that, once a-near, h.e.l.l's self could make us shrink?

No, no! Such love as ours Stabbed peace heart-deep and burnt the flesh to mad.

It scorned the simple powers Of sympathy and mild repose, and had One thirst alone--to hold Each other mouth to still unsated mouth Until, perchance, the cold And damp of death should end some night its drouth.

But only day would come, Unlock our arms and show us duty's eye Calm, pale, and sternly dumb.

And so we'd swear never to kiss or sigh Again--for well we knew G.o.d grants such boons only to man and wife.

But night distilled the dew Of loneliness--and so, once more, that life.

And how was the spell burst?

Each long embrace seemed sweeter than the last; Each dulling heart-beat nurst The shame, until I tore me from the past, And cried, "I hate my soul, And thine and this false love!" She fainted--fell.

I kissed her lips ... stole The ring that choked her finger ... said farewell.

And since then Time has pressed Ten restless years. But if I saw her lay Her hand upon her breast, As once she used, and send her soul to say A word with those dark eyes ...

Ha, what is that, signor? "Respect?... My wife?"

That's as may be. You rise?

Adieu, signor. Fate deals the cards in life.

A DEATH SONG

(_For a Drama_)

Toll no bell and say no prayer, Let no rose die on my bier.

All I hoped for shall appear Or be well forgotten, there.

(Like the waves of yesteryear.)

Toll no bell and drop no sigh, Bear me softly to the tomb; Life was dark, but light is nigh-- Light no sorrow shall consume (And no kiss of love--or cry).

Toll no bell; the clod will toll Grief enough for any ear.

When the last has sounded clear, Know that I have reached the Goal (Which is G.o.d seen thro no tear).

ON BALLYTEIGUE BAY

I've heard the sea-dead three nights come keening And crying to my door.

Why will they affright me with their threening Forevermore!

O have they no grave in the salt sea-places To lay them in?

Do they know, do they know--with their cold dead faces!-- Know ... my sin?

There's blood on my soul. The Lord cannot wipe it Away with His own blood.

I've beaten my breast with blows that stripe it, And burned His Rood With kisses that shrivel my lips--that shrivel To sin on the air.

But the night and the storm cry on me evil.

Does He not care?

There's blood on my soul: but then ... she should never Have said it was _his_--the child-- And _hers_--for she knew I'd never forgive her ...

I grew so wild There was just one thing to be done--to kill her: Just one--no more.

I took the keen steel ... one stroke would still her ...

I counted four.

And she fell--fell down on the kelp--none near her.

But when she lay so fair I kissed her ... because I knew I should fear her, And smoothed her hair; And shut her two eyes that fixed me fearless Of death and pain.

And the blood on my hand I wiped off tearless-- And that on my brain.

And I buried her quickly. The thorn-trees cover Her grave with spines. I pray That each in its fall will p.r.i.c.k her and shove her To colder clay.

But ... yonder! ... she's up! and moans in the heather A whimpering thing!

I'll bury her deeper in Autumn weather ...

Or Winter ... or Spring.

And then if she comes with them still to call me Each night, I'll tell her loud He was mine! and laugh when they try to pall me With sea and shroud.

And I'll swear not to care for Christ or Devil.

They'll skitter back To the waves, at that, and be gone with their revel....

G.o.d spare me the rack!