 | English Roses |  |
62
CIRCE.
Out of the red lips laughter,
Music and lust and life
Careless of the hereafter,
Severing man and wife.
What if she treads the vintage
Ruddy but not with grapes,
Moulding in her own mintage
Shameful but goodly shapes?
Souls are her daily portion,
Souls are her precious meat,
Darkened by strange distortion
Under hèr sanguine seat.
Music and lust and life
Careless of the hereafter,
Severing man and wife.
What if she treads the vintage
Ruddy but not with grapes,
Moulding in her own mintage
Shameful but goodly shapes?
Souls are her daily portion,
Souls are her precious meat,
Darkened by strange distortion
Under hèr sanguine seat.
Out of the tresses golden
Cometh the light of loves
Gay with the glamour olden,
Softer than breasts of doves.
What if she kills with kisses
Suitors that go to doom,
Deaf to the fate that hisses
Down in the brightest bloom?
Souls are wherein she revels,
Souls are her luscious wine,
Turned into forms of devils,
Wallowing low as swine.
Cometh the light of loves
Gay with the glamour olden,
Softer than breasts of doves.
What if she kills with kisses
Suitors that go to doom,
Deaf to the fate that hisses
Down in the brightest bloom?
Souls are wherein she revels,
Souls are her luscious wine,
Turned into forms of devils,
Wallowing low as swine.
Out of the bosom's whiteness
Death and the shadows peep,
Woe with its infiniteness
Sapping the wells of sleep.
What if she asks the money
Coined but with idle tears,
Giving in turn the honey
Mingled with bitter tears?
Souls are her toys and treasure,
Souls are her daily bread;
Pain is her only pleasure,
Wrung from the living dead.
Death and the shadows peep,
Woe with its infiniteness
Sapping the wells of sleep.
What if she asks the money
Coined but with idle tears,
Giving in turn the honey
Mingled with bitter tears?
Souls are her toys and treasure,
Souls are her daily bread;
Pain is her only pleasure,
Wrung from the living dead.
63
Out of the rapture roses
Drop on the dazzled slave,
Heedless how then uncloses
Gate of the sunless grave.
What if she blinds and blesses
All who desire her charms,
Slain in the sweet caresses
Lavished by loveless arms?
Souls are her food and clothing,
Souls are the awful price
Paid for the dear betrothing—
Nor do the souls suffice.
Drop on the dazzled slave,
Heedless how then uncloses
Gate of the sunless grave.
What if she blinds and blesses
All who desire her charms,
Slain in the sweet caresses
Lavished by loveless arms?
Souls are her food and clothing,
Souls are the awful price
Paid for the dear betrothing—
Nor do the souls suffice.
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