LX

THE NEW LOVE

Ah! what if thy last canticle be said, Bright Archer of illusion adored of old, Thou dream-fast Love in raiment burning-red, Wreathed with white doves, quivered with burning gold? Pass with thy Triumph of Lovers, Aucassin, Tristram, and Pharamond, and Lancelot, Dante, and Rudel, all thy haughty kin, Princes in that high heaven, as we are not.— With some gilt couchant sphinx both casqued and crowned, All mailed in amethyst the new god comes, Whose brooding beautiful eyes at last have found Our uncanonical dark martyrdoms, Who from the sombre catacombs of these Brings his great miracles and mysteries.

 

 

 

 

LXI

THE WAYS OF LOVE

Hail the implacable Iconoclast Whose images of ivory and gold Make proud the dust that his enthusiast In her dark trance may very God behold. From the clear music of his delicate Peripheries and porches of delight He draws her down through cruel gate on gate, Through immemorial, blind, implacable rite That strips her of her dream-branched veils of youth, And naked, agonised like trodden grapes, Drags her before the imperishable Truth, The flaming Ecstacy wherefrom he shapes Real myth and doctrine. Therefore I lift up My heart like some great jubilant scarlet Cup.

 

 

 

 

THE EPILOGUE OF THE DREAMING WOMEN

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