The Garden of Dreams Part 18

Squat-nosed and broad, of big and pompous port; A tavern visage, apoplexy haunts, All pimple-puffed; the Falstaff-like resort Of fat debauchery, whose veined cheek flaunts A flabby purple: rusty-spurred he stands In rakeh.e.l.l boots and belt, and hanger that Claps when, with greasy gauntlets on his hands, He swaggers past in cloak and slouch-plumed hat.

Aggression marches armies in his words; And in his oaths great deeds ride cap-a-pie; His looks, his gestures breathe the breath of swords; And in his carriage camp all wars to be: With him of battles there shall be no lack While buxom wenches are and stoops of sack.

THE WITCH.

She gropes and hobbies, where the dropsied rocks Are hairy with the lichens and the twist Of knotted wolf's-bane, mumbling in the mist, Hawk-nosed and wrinkle-eyed with scrawny locks.

At her bent back the sick-faced moonlight mocks, Like some lewd evil whom the Fiend hath kissed; Thrice at her feet the slipping serpent hissed, And thrice the owl called to the forest fox.-- What sabboth brew dost now intend? What root Dost seek for, seal for what satanic spell Of incantations and demoniac fire?

From thy rude hut, hill-huddled in the brier, What dark familiar points thy sure pursuit, With burning eyes, gaunt with the glow of h.e.l.l?

THE SOMNAMBULIST.

Oaks and a water. By the water--eyes, Ice-green and steadfast as cold stars; and hair Yellow as eyes deep in a she-wolf's lair; And limbs, like darkness that the lightning dyes.

The humped oaks stand black under iron skies; The dry wind whirls the dead leaves everywhere; Wild on the water falls a vulture glare Of moon, and wild the circling raven flies.

Again the power of this thing hath laid Illusion on him: and he seems to hear A sweet voice calling him beyond his gates To longed-for love; he comes; each forest glade Seems reaching out white arms to draw him near-- Nearer and nearer to the death that waits.

OPIUM.

_On reading De Quincey's "Confessions of an Opium Eater."_

I seemed to stand before a temple walled From shadows and night's unrealities; Filled with dark music of dead memories, And voices, lost in darkness, aye that called.

I entered. And, beneath the dome's high-halled Immensity, one forced me to my knees Before a blackness--throned 'mid semblances And spectres--crowned with flames of emerald.

Then, lo! two shapes that thundered at mine ears The names of Horror and Oblivion, Priests of this G.o.d,--and bade me die and dream.

Then, in the heart of h.e.l.l, a thousand years Meseemed I lay--dead; while the iron stream Of Time beat out the seconds, one by one.

MUSIC AND SLEEP.

These have a life that hath no part in death; These circ.u.mscribe the soul and make it strong; Between the breathing of a dream and song, Building a world of beauty in a breath.

Unto the heart the voice of this one saith Ideals, its emotions live among; Unto the mind the other speaks a tongue Of visions, where the guess, we christen faith, May face the fact of immortality-- As may a rose its unembodied scent, Or star its own reflected radiance.

We do not know these save unconsciously.

To whose mysterious shadows G.o.d hath lent No certain shape, no certain countenance.

AMBITION.

Now to my lips lift then some opiate Of black forgetfulness! while in thy gaze Still lures the loveless beauty that betrays, And in thy mouth the music that is hate.

No promise more hast thou to make me wait; No smile to cozen my sick heart with praise!

Far, far behind thee stretch laborious days, And far before thee, labors soon and late.

Thine is the fen-fire that we deem a star, Flying before us, ever fugitive, Thy mocking policy still holds afar: And thine the voice, to which our longings give Hope's siren face, that speaks us sweet and fair, Only to lead us captives to Despair.

DESPONDENCY.

Not all the bravery that day puts on Of gold and azure, ardent or austere, Shall ease my soul of sorrow; grown more dear Than all the joy that heavenly hope may don.

Far up the skies the rumor of the dawn May run, and eve like some wild torch appear; These shall not change the darkness, gathered here, Of thought, that rusts like an old sword undrawn.

Oh, for a place deep-sunken from the sun!

A wildwood cave of primitive rocks and moss!

Where Sleep and Silence--breast to married breast-- Lie with their child, night-eyed Oblivion; Where, freed from all the trouble of my cross, I might forget, I might forget, and rest!

DESPAIR.

Shut in with phantoms of life's hollow hopes, And shadows of old sins satiety slew, And the young ghosts of the dead dreams love knew, Out of the day into the night she gropes.

Behind her, high the silvered summit slopes Of strength and faith, she will not turn to view; But towards the cave of weakness, harsh of hue, She goes, where all the dropsied horror ropes.

There is a voice of waters in her ears, And on her brow a wind that never dies: One is the anguish of desired tears; One is the sorrow of unuttered sighs; And, burdened with the immemorial years, Downward she goes with never lifted eyes.

SIN.

There is a legend of an old Hartz tower That tells of one, a n.o.ble, who had sold His soul unto the Fiend; who grew not old On this condition: That the demon's power Cease every midnight for a single hour, And in that hour his body should be cold, His limbs grow shriveled, and his face, behold!

Become a death's-head in the taper's glower.-- So unto Sin Life gives his best. Her arts Make all his outward seeming beautiful Before the world; but in his heart of hearts Abides an hour when her strength is null; When he shall feel the death through all his parts Strike, and his countenance become a skull.

INSOMNIA.

It seems that dawn will never climb The eastern hills; And, clad in mist and flame and rime, Make flas.h.i.+ng highways of the rills.

The night is as an ancient way Through some dead land, Whereon the ghosts of Memory And Sorrow wander hand in hand.