ABSINTHE
I have prayed to the Christ of the merciful eyes,
I have prayed to the Lord of Hosts,
I have prayed, but in vain, for God to rise
And scatter these murderous ghosts,
These horrible, beckoning ghosts that sign
And beckon me where? ah, where?
O little green god in your crystal shrine,
You only will heed my prayer!
The breath of your mouth is a powerful wind
That whirls sorrow-shadows away;
The light of your eyes burns the bonds that bind,
I escape from the earth’s fell sway.
The pallid figures in threatening line,
They falter and tremble and flee.
O little green god in your crystal shrine,
Shed some of your glory on me!
I have given you service, sincere and prolonged,
I have given you love—ah, you know!
Though I pray in a fane by your worshippers thronged,
There is no one who worships you so.
My hand and my heart and my brain, ah, divine
Lord, master of living, I give,
O little green god in your crystal shrine,
Take these—and then bid me to live!
By a green marble house in a garden of green,
Green roses bloom ’neath a green sun,
Where the maidens have eyes of an emerald sheen,
And the strife and the labor are done,
O there let me dwell, where the ravenous whine
Of the earth ghosts is soundless and dead.
O little green god in your crystal shrine,
Your heavenly dream-shower shed!