XXVII

SUB-CONSCIOUSNESS

Sometimes as Martha suddenly stood amazed By Mary's mystic eyes, and sometimes as That very dreamer Mary might have gazed Upon the Daughter of Herodias, The conscious Soul that other Soul discovers, The strange idolator who still regrets Golden Osiris, Tammuz lord of lovers, Attis the sad white god of violets. In jasper caves she lies behind her veils; And jars of spice, and gilded ears of corn, And wine-red roses and rose-red wine-grails Feed her long trances while the far flutes mourn. She lies and dreams daemonic passionate things: Cherubim guard her gates with monstrous wings.

 

 

 

 

XXVIII

SATIETY

Ah! love me not with honey-sweet excesses, With passionate prodigalities of praise, With wreaths of daisied words and quaint caresses, Adore me not in charming childish ways. This pastoral is beautiful enough:  But never shall it antidote my drouth: I want a reticent ironic Love With smiling eyes and faintly mocking mouth. Sweetness is best when bitterly 'tis bought:  So in Love's deadly duel I would not be Victorious, and the peace I long have sought, Sure knowledge of his great supremacy, Would buy with pangs, like that bright cuirassier, The queen-at-arms that knew the Peliad's spear.

 

 

 

 

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