 | East and west : the discovery of America and other poems |  |
100
TELEPATHY.
O would we were downy white feathers,
Or gossamer fabrics of laces,
To float through the stratum of weathers
To the calm of the infinite spaces;
To linger like stars which the peaks at morn
Compel to receive their caresses
On the low gray couch where the day is born,
And wrapped in the gold of Aurora's tresses!
O, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
Or gossamer fabrics of laces,
To float through the stratum of weathers
To the calm of the infinite spaces;
To linger like stars which the peaks at morn
Compel to receive their caresses
On the low gray couch where the day is born,
And wrapped in the gold of Aurora's tresses!
O, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
On the breasts of the snowy Himályas
Firm rounded in virginal fashion,
We 'd burn like the crimson of dahlias
At the twin pink foci of passion;
You with a rainbow arch beneath
And the Milky Way to lie on,
With the Zodiac for a bridal wreath,
And the diamond brooch of the great Orion.
Ah, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
Firm rounded in virginal fashion,
We 'd burn like the crimson of dahlias
At the twin pink foci of passion;
You with a rainbow arch beneath
And the Milky Way to lie on,
With the Zodiac for a bridal wreath,
And the diamond brooch of the great Orion.
101
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
Away from the curses and crazes
And deserts of vulgar desire!
To know the impalpable mazes
Are the exquisite centres of fire!
Where the spirit can doff the world's deceit,
And stand in its naked glory,
And woo in the white of a native heat,
And not in the vows of a lying story.
There, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not the snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
And deserts of vulgar desire!
To know the impalpable mazes
Are the exquisite centres of fire!
Where the spirit can doff the world's deceit,
And stand in its naked glory,
And woo in the white of a native heat,
And not in the vows of a lying story.
There, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not the snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
A fig for the standard ascetic!
We 'd crave no intangible blisses.
On the ray of a current magnetic
I could feel the throb of your kisses;
I could hold you close as a sweet pea vine
With twisted tendrils a-quiver,
I could drink your breath as a spicy wine,
As a thirsty desert absorbs a river.
So, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
We 'd crave no intangible blisses.
On the ray of a current magnetic
I could feel the throb of your kisses;
I could hold you close as a sweet pea vine
With twisted tendrils a-quiver,
I could drink your breath as a spicy wine,
As a thirsty desert absorbs a river.
So, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
102
Were not this the proof of divinity
To love without limit or measure,
To raise to the bliss of infinity
The Tantalus torture of pleasure?
For the new-blown rose of your cheek shall pale,
And buds dry up with their juices.
But this fountain of youth shall never fail.
The angels know its immortal uses.
Come, whether the world be weary
Let 's care not a snap of a finger,
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
To love without limit or measure,
To raise to the bliss of infinity
The Tantalus torture of pleasure?
For the new-blown rose of your cheek shall pale,
And buds dry up with their juices.
But this fountain of youth shall never fail.
The angels know its immortal uses.
Come, whether the world be weary
Let 's care not a snap of a finger,
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
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