For it was so inexplicably wrought
Of soft alternate motions, that she taught
Each sweeping supple limb,
And in such intricate and wondrous ways
With bendings of her body, that the praise
Lost breath upon men’s lips, and all grew dim
Save her so bright and slim.
And through the swift mesh’d serpents of her hair
That lash’d and leapt on each place white and fair
Of bosom or of arm,
And through the blazing of the numberless
And whirling jewelled fires of her dress,
Her perfect face no passion could disarm
Of its reposeful charm.
Her head oft drooped as in some languid death
Beneath brim tastes of joy, and her rich breath
Heaved faintly from her breast;
Her long eyes, opened fervently and wide,
Did seem with endless rapture to abide
In some fair trance through which the soul possest
Love, ecstasy, and rest.
But lo—while each man fixed his eyes on her,
And was himself quite fillèd with the stir
His heart did make within—
The place was full of devils everywhere:
They came in from the desert and the air;
They came from all the palaces of sin,
And each heart they were in:
They lurked beneath the purples, and did crawl
Or crouch in unseen corners of the hall,
Among the brass and gold;
They climbed the brazen pillars till they lined
The chamber fair; and one went up behind
The throne of Herod—fearful to behold—
The Serpent king of old.
Yea, too, before those blinded men there went
Some even to Salome; and they lent
Strange charms she did not shun.
She stretched her hand forth, and inclined her ear;
She knew those men would neither see nor hear:
A devil did support her head, and one
Her steps’ light fabric spun.
O, then her voice with singing all unveiled,
In no trained timid accents, straight assailed
King Herod’s open heart:
The amorous supplication wove and wound
Soft deadly sins about it; the words found
Fair traitor thoughts there,—singing snakes did dart
Their poison in each part.
She sang, “O look on me, and look on Love:
We three are here together, and above—
What heaven may there be?
None for thine heart without this spell of mine,
Yea, this my beauty, yea, these limbs that shine
And make thy senses shudder; and for me,
No heaven without thee!
“O, all the passion in me on this day
Rises into one song to sweep away
The breakers of Love’s bond;
For is it not a pleasant bond indeed,
And made of all the flowers in life’s mead?
And is not Love a master fair and fond?
And is not Death beyond?
“O, who are these that will adjure thee, King,
To put away this tender flower-thing,
This love that is thy bliss?
Dost thou think thou canst live indeed, and dare
The joyless remnant of pale days, the bare
Hard tomb, and feed through cold eternities
Thy heart without one kiss?