Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/118

  From Beethoven’s hymns of unrestricted storms, Wherein with the Gods, the roaring thunders war, The soul returns to its more simple forms, To the cradle tunes that mother sang of yore.

From Hamlet’s skull, Nirvana’s mystic waste, From truth that in the fables buried lies, When you unearth it, frightfully in haste You will return to man’s Lost Paradise.

From orgies wild that fill the cup with glee, And pour red wine o’er nudes in ecstasy, You will return to a babe on mother’s knee And find at length true, unspoiled poesy.

The wings of Odes, for which you tried to borrow, The blush of dawn, and the pearls from the stars, These you will drop, and awed by fear and sorrow You’ll try to soothe your musings burning scars.

And when you ask what is Life’s goal or thread, Is it the crest or the pit where the waves must start? The wings of life hum softly about your head, And you find the tree of life, bloom in your heart.

Oh the beauty of your limbs, so white and slender, Oh the endless longing in your dreamy eyes, Oh the strength of passion that within you lies, Oh the tempting nets of your tresses wild surrender.

A siren’s song, angelic voice and Judgment’s call Dreams of a Spring asleep for centuries, All this assails me in my memories, And all this tempts me in your arms to fall.

I close my eyes, and yield to the wings of night, Like a star, your being pours a stream of light It seems, in you, I hold all Beauty’s mold.

Oh mystery, oh flames of a burning kiss, Oh flaming tears, boundless abandon of bliss, Oh budding breasts and hair of molten gold!