You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—
'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!
And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—
Thou art that madness of supreme desire,
Which lacking, beauty is but dross and clay.
Within thy veins is all the fire of day
And all the stars divinity of fire.
Thine are the lips and loins that never tire,
And thine the bliss that makes my soul dismay.
Upon thy breast what god at midnight lay,
To make thy flesh the music of his lyre?
Ah! such alone should know thy loveliness!
Ah! such alone should know thy full caress,
O goddess of intolerable delight!
I beg of Fate the guerdon and the grace,
Far beyond death, to know in thine embrace
Eternal rapture in eternal night.
O Hymen! O hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would
soon certainly kill me?
It is the coming of rain I love,
When sky-filled clouds shade harsh noon
And cushion the noise of the city.
Slim eucalyptus trees sway in anticipation,
Imitating the sound of showers
With the soft applause of leaves.
I alone have stopped here
In this abandoned parking lot
To see the rain come.
I am praying for a deluge,
Enough to make us stop
And for a while be still.
The color gladdens all your heart;
You call it Heaven, dear, but I -
Now Hope and I are far apart -
Call it the sky.
I know that Nature's tears have wet
The world with sympathy; but you,
Who know not any sorrow yet,
Call it the dew.
We met upon the stepping stones,
She blushed and looked at me;
The river turned its short, sharp moans
Into sweet melody.
I heard the music in my heart,
I said, "Sweet maid, I find
That I will have to turn again,
And let you come behind."
Thereat she hung her dainty head,
The river's melody
Grew sweeter, and methought it said,
"The maid will follow thee."
I turned upon the stepping stone,
The maiden came behind;
She whispered in her sweetest tone,
"Dear sir, but you are kind."
"Nay, nay," I said, and took her hand;
"But shall I turn again,
Or wait until a tender band
Be bound about us twain?"
She hung her head, then, blushing, said,
"Dear sir, but you are kind;
If you will cross the stepping stones,
I will not stay behind."
I've often watched you, centipede,
And I can't think however
You manage those long rows of feet --
You must be very clever.
You seem to do it all so pat,
Without a slip or jumble;
If I could play my scales like that
Mamma would never grumble.
Compared with you I feel a dunce,
But then, of course, it may be
You did not learn it all at once
When you were but a baby,
So I may hope, dear centipede,
That there's a good day coming,
When I shall play long runs with speed
Instead of slowly strumming.
Who wants my jellyfish?
I'm not sellyfish!
