Poems & Ballads Volume I Part 11

SATIA TE SANGUINE

If you loved me ever so little, I could bear the bonds that gall, I could dream the bonds were brittle; You do not love me at all.

O beautiful lips, O bosom More white than the moon's and warm, A sterile, a ruinous blossom Is blown your way in a storm.

As the lost white feverish limbs Of the Lesbian Sappho, adrift In foam where the sea-weed swims, Swam loose for the streams to lift,

My heart swims blind in a sea That stuns me; swims to and fro, And gathers to windward and lee Lamentation, and mourning, and woe.

A broken, an emptied boat, Sea saps it, winds blow apart, Sick and adrift and afloat, The barren waif of a heart.

Where, when the G.o.ds would be cruel, Do they go for a torture? where Plant thorns, set pain like a jewel?

Ah, not in the flesh, not there!

The racks of earth and the rods Are weak as foam on the sands; In the heart is the prey for G.o.ds, Who crucify hearts, not hands.

Mere pangs corrode and consume, Dead when life dies in the brain; In the infinite spirit is room For the pulse of an infinite pain.

I wish you were dead, my dear; I would give you, had I to give Some death too bitter to fear; It is better to die than live.

I wish you were stricken of thunder And burnt with a bright flame through, Consumed and cloven in sunder, I dead at your feet like you.

If I could but know after all, I might cease to hunger and ache, Though your heart were ever so small, If it were not a stone or a snake.

You are crueller, you that we love, Than hatred, hunger, or death; You have eyes and b.r.e.a.s.t.s like a dove, And you kill men's hearts with a breath

As plague in a poisonous city Insults and exults on her dead, So you, when pallid for pity Comes love, and fawns to be fed.

As a tame beast writhes and wheedles, He fawns to be fed with wiles; You carve him a cross of needles, And whet them sharp as your smiles.

He is patient of thorn and whip, He is dumb under axe or dart; You suck with a sleepy red lip The wet red wounds in his heart.

You thrill as his pulses dwindle, You brighten and warm as he bleeds, With insatiable eyes that kindle And insatiable mouth that feeds.

Your hands nailed love to the tree, You stript him, scourged him with rods, And drowned him deep in the sea That hides the dead and their G.o.ds.

And for all this, die will he not; There is no man sees him but I; You came and went and forgot; I hope he will some day die.

A LITANY

[Greek: en ouran phaennas kryps par' hymin augas, mias pro nyktos hepta nyktas hexete, k.t.l.]

_Anth. Sac._

FIRST ANTIPHONE

All the bright lights of heaven I will make dark over thee; One night shall be as seven That its skirts may cover thee; I will send on thy strong men a sword, On thy remnant a rod; Ye shall know that I am the Lord, Saith the Lord G.o.d.

SECOND ANTIPHONE

All the bright lights of heaven Thou hast made dark over us; One night has been as seven That its skirt might cover us; Thou hast sent on our strong men a sword, On our remnant a rod; We know that thou art the Lord, O Lord our G.o.d.

THIRD ANTIPHONE

As the tresses and wings of the wind Are scattered and shaken, I will scatter all them that have sinned, There shall none be taken; As a sower that scattereth seed, So will I scatter them; As one breaketh and shattereth a reed, I will break and shatter them.

FOURTH ANTIPHONE

As the wings and the locks of the wind Are scattered and shaken, Thou hast scattered all them that have sinned, There was no man taken; As a sower that scattereth seed, So hast thou scattered us; As one breaketh and shattereth a reed, Thou hast broken and shattered us.

FIFTH ANTIPHONE

From all thy lovers that love thee I G.o.d will sunder thee; I will make darkness above thee, And thick darkness under thee; Before me goeth a light, Behind me a sword; Shall a remnant find grace in my sight?

I am the Lord.

SIXTH ANTIPHONE

From all our lovers that love us Thou G.o.d didst sunder us; Thou madest darkness above us, And thick darkness under us; Thou hast kindled thy wrath for a light, And made ready thy sword; Let a remnant find grace in thy sight, We beseech thee, O Lord.

SEVENTH ANTIPHONE

Wilt thou bring fine gold for a payment For sins on this wise?

For the glittering of raiment And the shining of eyes, For the painting of faces And the sundering of trust, For the sins of thine high places And delight of thy l.u.s.t?

For your high things ye shall have lowly, Lamentation for song; For, behold, I G.o.d am holy, I the Lord am strong; Ye shall seek me and shall not reach me Till the wine-press be trod; In that hour ye shall turn and beseech me, Saith the Lord G.o.d.

EIGHTH ANTIPHONE

Not with fine gold for a payment, But with coin of sighs, But with rending of raiment And with weeping of eyes, But with shame of stricken faces And with strewing of dust, For the sin of stately places And lordship of l.u.s.t;

With voices of men made lowly, Made empty of song, O Lord G.o.d most holy, O G.o.d most strong, We reach out hands to reach thee Ere the wine-press be trod; We beseech thee, O Lord, we beseech thee, O Lord our G.o.d.

NINTH ANTIPHONE

In that hour thou shalt say to the night, Come down and cover us; To the cloud on thy left and thy right, Be thou spread over us; A snare shall be as thy mother, And a curse thy bride; Thou shalt put her away, and another Shall lie by thy side.

Thou shalt neither rise up by day Nor lie down by night; Would G.o.d it were dark! thou shalt say; Would G.o.d it were light!