[A GLASS OF ABSINTHE]

AN ODE IN MINIATURE

It lay within a glass of green,
A sinuous glass of subtle green.
It sparkled with a slimy sheen.
A languorous fascination gleamed
With glint of lapis lazuli;
And from its silken surface streamed
The scent of musk from Araby.
Ah—was that music only dreamed
That tinct the drowsy scene?
And was my fancy false, or seemed
The glass to lure me with its limpid green?
My fingers fluttered to the stem,
To kiss the fluted, serpent stem,
As pious Persians kiss the hem,
Enwove with many a wanton trick,
Of Persia's deified Sofi.
I could not see; the light seemed thick
As perfume from the balsam-tree,
Or incense in a basalic
When sounds a requiem.
I drank the draught; my sense was sick;
My quivering fingers crushed the curling stem.
I dropped the cup of crystal-green;
I scattered fragments emerald-green—
False emeralds with a glassy sheen.
Upon the pavement, how they gleamed!
I flung the bits of serpent-stem
Upon the table beryl-seamed.
I swept them with my garment's hem—
Some say I laughed—That night, I dreamed
Of Araby—a scene
Of sleepy charm whence fragrance streamed;
And in mirage, the desert blossomed green.
January 16, 1913.

THE PALACE OF PAIN

A CYCLE

I

A soul was once incarnate in a man;
And this unseen, incarnate thing was mine;
And, as my body grew, the soul began
To sip more fondly of the scented wine
And sugared blisses life can give at call.
It languished amid luxuries divine
Showering richly like the leaves that fall
Upon the sensuous-silent autumn air.
Pale, fleeting Pleasure took my thoughtless all;
For love, unselfish, passion-fervid, rare,
Vibrated through the discords of dull time,
Blending them into harmony; for where
Life jangled harsh, a mother's care would chime
More blissful chords than can be told in rime.