Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man ! My man !
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan ! Io Pan .
"Aug." 10, 1911.
Full moon to-night; and six and twenty years
Since my full moon first broke from angel spheres!
I bring ye wine from above,
From the vats of the storied sun;
For every one of yer love,
And life for every one.
As night hath stars, more rare than ships
In ocean, faint from pole to pole,
So all the wonder of her lips
Hints her innavigable soul.
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich]
In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced,
The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced,
In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel
Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
So it is eighteen years,
Helena, since we met!
A season so endears,
Nor you nor I forget