DESIRE
As the white sails of ships across the ocean,
The last sounds fade when the sun has declined.
I am alone. There is no motion
Rippling the clear waters in the mind.
Only now the madrepores’ frail tentacles
Sway languidly before they fall asleep;
And waiting in their dark pinnacles
The virgin medusae watch and weep.
Moving darkly among the forests of weed
Ancient memories drag their crinkled shells
To glades where crimson tree-trunks bleed
Thickly, and hushed are the faint sea-bells.
Out of that silent depth loveless arising
Undine sheds on the water her shining hair,
Softly calleth her soul, devising
A fragrance of music in the air.
TRENCH POETS
I knew a man, he was my chum,
But he grew blacker every day,
And would not brush the flies away,
Nor blanch however fierce the hum
Of passing shells. I used to read,
To rouse him, random things from Donne,
Like ‘Get with child a mandrake-root,’
But you can tell he was far gone,
For he lay gaping, mackerel-eyed,
And stiff and senseless as a post,
Even when that old poet cried,
‘I long to talk with some old lover’s ghost.’
I tried the Elegies one day;
But he, because he heard me say,
‘What needst thou have more covering than a man?’
Grinned nastily, and so I knew
The worms had got his brains at last.
There was one thing that I might do
To starve the worms; I racked my head
For healthy things and quoted Maud.
His grin got worse, and I could see
He laughed at passion’s purity.