Girl, You Shall Mock No Longer

You shall not hide forever,

I shall your path discern;

I have the key to Heaven,

Key to the pits that burn.

Saved ones will help me, lost ones

Spy on your secret way—

Show me your flying footprints

On past your death-bed day.

If by your pride you stumble

Down to the demon-land,

I shall be there beside you,

Chained to your burning hand.

If, by your choice and pleasure,

You shall ascend the sky,

I, too, will mount that stairway,

You shall not put me by.

There, ’mid the holy people,

Healed of your blasting scorn,

Clasped in these arms that hunger,

Splendid with dreams reborn,

You shall be mastered, lady,

Knowing, at last, Desire—

Lifting your face for kisses—

Kisses of bitter fire.

Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here ...

Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns

And the tremendous amaranth descends

Sweet with glory of ten thousand dawns?

Does it not mean my God would have me say:—

“Whether you will or no, oh city young

Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,

Flash and loom greatly, all your marts among?”

Friends I will not cease hoping, though you weep.

Such things I see, and some of them shall come

Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-grey,

Though now our youths are strident, or are dumb.

Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town shall rise.

Naught can delay it. Though it may not be

Just as I dream, it comes at last, I know

With streets like channels of an incense-sea!