And when Herodias—that many times
Polluted one, assured now in all crimes
Past fear or turning—when she, her fierce tongue
Thrice forked with indignation, hotly spoke
Quick wild beseeching words, wherewith she clung
To Herod, praying him by some death-stroke
To do her vengeance there before all folk—
Ah, spite of every urging that her hate
Did put into her lips,—so fair and great
Seemed that accuser standing weaponless,
Yet wholly terrible with his bright speech
As ’twere some sword of flaming holiness,
That no man dared to join her and beseech
His death; but dread came somehow upon each.
For he was surely terrible to see
So plainly sinless, so divinely free
To judge them; being in a perfect youth,
Yet walking like an angel in a man
Reproving all men with inspired truth.
And Herod himself spoke not, but began
To tremble: through his soul the warning ran.
—Then that Salome did put off the shame
Of her mere virgin girlhood, and became
A woman! Then she did at once essay
Her beauty’s magic, and unfold the wings
Of her enchanted feet,—to have men say
She slew him—born indeed for wondrous things.
Her dance was fit to ruin saints or kings.
O, her new beauty was above all praise!
She came with dancing in shy devious ways,
And while she danced she sang.
The virgin bandlet of her forehead brake,
Her hair came round her like a shining snake;
To loving her men’s hearts within them sprang
The while she danced and sang.
Her long black hair danced round her like a snake
Allured to each charmed movement she did make;
Her voice came strangely sweet;
She sang, “O, Herod, wilt thou look on me—
Have I no beauty thy heart cares to see?”
And what her voice did sing her dancing feet
Seemed ever to repeat.
She sang, “O, Herod, wilt thou look on me?
What sweet I have, I have it all for thee;”
And through the dance and song
She freed and floated on the air her arms
Above dim veils that hid her bosom’s charms:
The passion of her singing was so strong
It drew all hearts along.
Her sweet arms were unfolded on the air,
They seemed like floating flowers the most fair—
White lilies the most choice;
And in the gradual bending of her hand
There lurked a grace that no man could withstand;
Yea, none knew whether hands, or feet, or voice,
Most made his heart rejoice.
The veils fell round her like thin coiling mists
Shot through by topaz suns, and amethysts,
And rubies she had on;
And out of them her jewelled body came,
And seemed to all quite like a slender flame
That curled and glided, and that burnt and shone
Most fair to look upon.
Then she began, on that well-polished floor,
Whose stones seemed taking radiance more and more
From steps too bright to see,
A certain measure that was like some spell
Of winding magic, wherein heaven and hell
Were joined to lull men’s souls eternally
In some mid ecstasy: