I will cover the walls of night
With faces,
Till you do not know
If these faces are but masks, or you the masks for them.
Faces too grotesque for laughter,
Faces too shattered by pain for tears,
Faces of such ugliness
That the ugliness grows beauty.
They will haunt you morning, evening,
Burning, burning, ever returning.
Their own infamy creating,
Till you strike at life and hate it,
Burn your soul up so in hating.
I will scrawl on the walls of the night
Faces,
Pitiless,
Flaring,
Staring.
A Life
Her life was like a swiftly rushing stream
Green and scarlet,
Falling into darkness.
The seasons passed for her,
Like pale iris wilting,
Or peonies flying to ribbons before the storm-gusts.
The sombre pine-tops waited until the seasons had passed.
Then in her heart they grew
The snows of changeless winter
Stirred by the bitter winds of unsatisfied desire.