Which was the vessel of your Lust? What Leman had you, every day?

  Did giant Lizards come and crouch before you on the reedy banks?

  Did Gryphons with great metal flanks leap on you in your trampled couch?

  Did monstrous hippopotami come sidling toward you in the mist?

  Did gilt-scaled dragons writhe and twist with passion as you passed them by?

  And from the brick-built Lycian tomb what horrible Chimera came

  With fearful heads and fearful flame to breed new wonders from your womb?

  Or had you shameful secret quests and did you harry to your home

  Some Nereid coiled in amber foam with curious rock crystal breasts?

  Or did you treading through the froth call to the brown Sidonian

  For tidings of Leviathan, Leviathan or Behemoth?

  Or did you when the sun was set climb up the cactus-covered slope

  To meet your swarthy Ethiop whose body was of polished jet?

  Or did you while the earthen skiffs dropped down the grey Nilotic flats

  At twilight and the flickering bats flew round the temple’s triple glyphs

  Steal to the border of the bar and swim across the silent lake

  And slink into the vault and make the Pyramid your lúpanar

  Till from each black sarcophagus rose up the painted swathèd dead?

  Or did you lure unto your bed the ivory-horned Tragelaphos?

  Or did you love the god of flies who plagued the Hebrews and was splashed

  With wine unto the waist? or Pasht, who had green beryls for her eyes?

  Or that young god, the Tyrian, who was more amorous than the dove

  Of Ashtaroth? or did you love the god of the Assyrian

  Whose wings, like strange transparent talc, rose high above his hawk-faced head,

  Painted with silver and with red and ribbed with rods of Oreichalch?

  Or did huge Apis from his car leap down and lay before your feet

  Big blossoms of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured nenuphar?

  How subtle-secret is your smile! Did you love none then? Nay, I know

  Great Ammon was your bedfellow! He lay with you beside the Nile!

  The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when they saw him come

  Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with spikenard and with thyme.

  He came along the river bank like some tall galley argent-sailed,

  He strode across the waters, mailed in beauty, and the waters sank.

  He strode across the desert sand: he reached the valley where you lay:

  He waited till the dawn of day: then touched your black breasts with his hand.

  You kissed his mouth with mouths of flame: you made the hornèd god your own:

  You stood behind him on his throne: you called him by his secret name.

  You whispered monstrous oracles into the caverns of his ears:

  With blood of goats and blood of steers you taught him monstrous miracles.

  White Ammon was your bedfellow! Your chamber was the steaming Nile!

  And with your curved archaic smile you watched his passion come and go.

  With Syrian oils his brows were bright: and wide-spread as a tent at noon

  His marble limbs made pale the moon and lent the day a larger light.

  His long hair was nine cubits’ span and coloured like that yellow gem

  Which hidden in their garment’s hem the merchants bring from Kurdistan.

  His face was as the must that lies upon a vat of new-made wine:

  The seas could not insapphirine the perfect azure of his eyes.

  His thick soft throat was white as milk and threaded with thin veins of blue:

  And curious pearls like frozen dew were broidered on his flowing silk.

  On pearl and porphyry pedestalled he was too bright to look upon:

  For on his ivory breast there shone the wondrous ocean-emerald,

  That mystic moonlit jewel which some diver of the Colchian caves

  Had found beneath the blackening waves and carried to the Colchian witch.

  Before his gilded galiot ran naked vine-wreathed corybants,

  And lines of swaying elephants knelt down to draw his chariot,

  And lines of swarthy Nubians bare up his litter as he rode

  Down the great granite-paven road between the nodding peacock-fans.

  The merchants brought him steatite from Sidon in their painted ships:

  The meanest cup that touched his lips was fashioned from a chrysolite.

  The merchants brought him cedar chests of rich apparel bound with cords:

  His train was borne by Memphian lords: young kings were glad to be his guests.

  Ten hundred shaven priests did bow to Ammon’s altar day and night,

  Ten hundred lamps did wave their light through Ammon’s carven house—and now

  Foul snake and speckled adder with their young ones crawl from stone to stone

  For ruined is the house and prone the great rose-marble monolith!

  Wild ass or trotting jackal comes and couches in the mouldering gates:

  Wild satyrs call unto their mates across the fallen fluted drums.

  And on the summit of the pile the blue-faced ape of Horus sits

  And gibbers while the fig-tree splits the pillars of the peristyle.

  The god is scattered here and there: deep hidden in the windy sand

  I saw his giant granite hand still clenched in impotent despair.

  And many a wandering caravan of stately Negroes silken-shawled,

  Crossing the desert, halts appalled before the neck that none can span.

  And many a bearded Bedouin draws back his yellow-striped burnous

  To gaze upon the Titan thews of him who was thy paladin.

  Go, seek his fragments on the moor and wash them in the evening dew,

  And from their pieces make anew thy mutilated paramour!

  Go, seek them where they lie alone and from their broken pieces make

  Thy bruisèd bedfellow! And wake mad passions in the senseless stone!

  Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns! he loved your body! oh, be kind,

  Pour spikenard on his hair, and wind soft rolls of linen round his limbs!

  Wind round his head the figured coins! stain with red fruits those pallid lips!

  Weave purple for his shrunken hips! and purple for his barren loins!

  Away to Egypt! Have no fear. Only one God has ever died.

  Only one God has let His side be wounded by a soldier’s spear.

  But these, thy lovers, are not dead. Still by the hundred-cubit gate

  Dog-faced Anubis sits in state with lotus-lilies for thy head.

  Still from his chair of porphyry gaunt Memnon strains his lidless eyes

  Across the empty land, and cries each yellow morning unto thee.

  And Nilus with his broken horn lies in his black and oozy bed

  And till thy coming will not spread his waters on the withering corn.

  Your lovers are not dead, I know. They will rise up and hear your voice

  And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to kiss your mouth! And so,

  Set wings upon your argosies! Set horses to your ebon car!

  Back to your Nile! Or if you are grown sick of dead divinities

  Follow some roving lion’s spoor across the copper-coloured plain,

  Reach out and hale him by the mane and bid him be your paramour!

  Couch by his side upon the grass and set your white teeth in his throat

  And when you hear his dying note lash your long flanks of polished brass

  And take a tiger for your mate, whose amber sides are flecked with black,

  And ride upon his gilded back in triumph through the Theban gate,

  And toy with him in amorous jests, and when he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,

  O smite him with your jasper claws! and bruise him with your agate breasts!

  Why are you tarrying? Get hence! I weary of your sullen ways,

  I weary of your steadfast gaze, your somnolent magnificence.

  Your horrible and heavy breath makes the light flicker in the lamp,

  And on my brow I feel the damp and dreadful dews of night and death.

  Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver in some stagnant lake,

  Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances to fantastic tunes,

  Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your black throat is like the hole

  Left by some torch or burning coal on Saracenic tapestries.

  Away! The sulphur-coloured stars are hurrying through the Western gate!

  Away! Or it may be too late to climb their silent silver cars!

  See, the dawn shivers round the grey gilt-dialled towers, and the rain

  Streams down each diamonded pane and blurs with tears the wannish day.

  What snake-tressed fury fresh from Hell, with uncouth gestures and unclean,

  Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen and led you to a student’s cell?

  What songless tongueless ghost of sin crept through the curtains of the night,

  And saw my taper burning bright, and knocked, and bade you enter in?

  Are there not others more accursed, whiter with leprosies than I?

  Are Abana and Pharphar dry that you come here to slake your thirst?

  Get hence, you loathsome mystery! Hideous animal, get hence!

  You wake in me each bestial sense, you make me what I would not be.

  You make my creed a barren sham, you wake foul dreams of sensual life,

  And Atys with his blood-stained knife were better than the thing I am.

  False Sphinx! False Sphinx! By reedy Styx old Charon, leaning on his oar,

  Waits for my coin. Go thou before, and leave me to my crucifix,

  Whose pallid burden, sick with pain, watches the world with wearied eyes,

  And weeps for every soul that dies, and weeps for every soul in vain.

  Poems in Prose

  The Artist

  One evening there came into his soul the desire to fashion an image of The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment. And he went forth into the world to look for bronze. For he could think only in bronze.

  But all the bronze of the whole world had disappeared, nor anywhere in the whole world was there any bronze to be found, save only the bronze of the image of The Sorrow that endureth for Ever.

  Now this image he had himself, and with his own hands, fashioned, and had set it on the tomb of the one thing he had loved in life. On the tomb of the dead thing he had most loved had he set this image of his own fashioning, that it might serve as a sign of the love of man that dieth not, and a symbol of the sorrow of man that endureth forever. And in the whole world there was no other bronze save the bronze of this image.

  And he took the image he had fashioned, and set it in a great furnace, and gave it to the fire.

  And out of the bronze of the image of The Sorrow that endureth for Ever he fashioned an image of The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment.

  The Doer of Good

  It was night-time and He was alone.

  And He saw afar-off the walls of a round city and went towards the city.

  And when He came near He heard within the city the tread of the feet of joy, and the laughter of the mouth of gladness and the loud noise of many lutes. And He knocked at the gate and certain of the gate-keepers opened to Him.

  And He beheld a house that was of marble and had fair pillars of marble before it. The pillars were hung with garlands, and within and without there were torches of cedar. And He entered the house.

  And when He had passed through the hall of chalcedony and the hall of jasper, and reached the long hall of feasting, He saw lying on a couch of sea-purple one whose hair was crowned with red roses and whose lips were red with wine.

  And He went behind him and touched him on the shoulder and said to him, “Why do you live like this?”

  And the young man turned round and recognised Him, and made answer and said, “But I was a leper once, and you healed me. How else should I live?”

  And He passed out of the house and went again into the street.

  And after a little while He saw one whose face and raiment were painted and whose feet were shod with pearls. And behind her came, slowly as a hunter, a young man who wore a cloak of two colours. Now the face of the woman was as the fair face of an idol, and the eyes of the young man were bright with lust.

  And He followed swiftly and touched the hand of the young man and said to him, “Why do you look at this woman and in such wise?”

  And the young man turned round and recognised Him and said, “But I was blind once, and you gave me sight. At what else should I look?”

  And He ran forward and touched the painted raiment of the woman and said to her, “Is there no other way in which to walk save the way of sin?”

  And the woman turned round and recognised Him, and laughed and said, “But you forgave me my sins, and the way is a pleasant way.”

  And He passed out of the city.

  And when He had passed out of the city He saw seated by the roadside a young man who was weeping.

  And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and said to him, “Why are you weeping?”

  And the young man looked up and recognised Him and made answer, “But I was dead once, and you raised me from the dead. What else should I do but weep?”

  The Disciple

  When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort.

  And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of their hair and cried to the pool and said, “We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.”

  “But was Narcissus beautiful?” said the pool.

  “Who should know that better than you?” answered the Oreads. “Us did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.”

  And the pool answered, “But I loved Narcissus because, as he lay on my banks and looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever my own beauty mirrored.”

  The Master

  Now when the darkness came over the earth Joseph of Arimathea, having lighted a torch of pinewood, passed down from the hill into the valley. For he had business in his own home.

  And kneeling on the flint stones of the Valley of Desolation he saw a young man who was naked and weeping. His hair was the colour of honey, and his body was as a white flower, but he had wounded his body with thorns and on his hair had he set ashes as a crown.

  And he who had great possessions said to the young man who was naked and weeping, “I do not wonder that your sorrow is so great, for surely He was a just man.”

  And the young man answered, “It is not for Him that I am weeping, but for myself. I too have changed water into wine, and I have healed the leper and given sight to the blind. I have walked upon the waters, and from the dwellers in the tombs I have cast out devils. I have fed the hungry in the desert where there was no food, and I have raised the dead from their narrow houses, and at my bidding, and before a great multitude of people, a barren fig-tree withered away. All things that this man has done I have done also. And yet they have not crucified me.”

  The House of Judgment

  And there was silence in the House of Judgment, and the Man came naked before God.

  And God opened the Book of the Life of the Man.

  And God said to the Man, “Thy life hath been evil, and thou hast shown cruelty to those who were in need of succour, and to those who lacked help thou hast been bitter and hard of heart. The poor called to thee and thou didst not hearken, and thine ears were closed to the cry of My afflicted. The inheritance of the fatherless thou didst take unto thyself, and thou didst send the foxes into the vineyard of thy neighbour’s field. Thou didst take the bread of the children and give it to the dogs to eat, and My lepers who lived in the marshes, and were at peace and praised Me, thou didst drive forth on to the highways, and on Mine earth out of which I made thee thou didst spill innocent blood.”