Part 11 (1/2)

Ha, is it cracking of ice in the bog That is clutching my throat, Or devils gnawing the widow's shoat?

By the Cross of the Christ, There's a fog that is black As--U-r-r!--at my back!-- They are dragging me ... down to ... h.e.l.l!

QUARREL

And is it so That two who stand Heart closed in heart, Hand knit to hand, Can let love go Asunder, so?

Speak hard--not understand?

That one asks much?

One gives too small?

And so is lost, It may be--All?

That for a touch Of pride we such A heaven can let fall?

No!--But to Fate Say with me, ”Go: Death may bring dross But this I know; _Love can abate Life's harshest hate, So loving I bend low._”

OF THE FLESH

(_At Monte Carlo_)

We met upon the street; Quick pa.s.sion sprung into the eye of each; No dilettante heat!

For though I do not love her now, beseech You, signor, do you think We could face so in any spot, nor fear To leap the fatal brink Into each other's arms--that, once a-near, h.e.l.l's self could make us shrink?

No, no! Such love as ours Stabbed peace heart-deep and burnt the flesh to mad.

It scorned the simple powers Of sympathy and mild repose, and had One thirst alone--to hold Each other mouth to still unsated mouth Until, perchance, the cold And damp of death should end some night its drouth.

But only day would come, Unlock our arms and show us duty's eye Calm, pale, and sternly dumb.

And so we'd swear never to kiss or sigh Again--for well we knew G.o.d grants such boons only to man and wife.

But night distilled the dew Of loneliness--and so, once more, that life.

And how was the spell burst?

Each long embrace seemed sweeter than the last; Each dulling heart-beat nurst The shame, until I tore me from the past, And cried, ”I hate my soul, And thine and this false love!” She fainted--fell.

I kissed her lips ... stole The ring that choked her finger ... said farewell.

And since then Time has pressed Ten restless years. But if I saw her lay Her hand upon her breast, As once she used, and send her soul to say A word with those dark eyes ...

Ha, what is that, signor? ”Respect?... My wife?”

That's as may be. You rise?

Adieu, signor. Fate deals the cards in life.

A DEATH SONG

(_For a Drama_)

Toll no bell and say no prayer, Let no rose die on my bier.

All I hoped for shall appear Or be well forgotten, there.