FLAME

You have understood so little of me, and my adoration

That shone upon my forehead, like a crown of curious stones,

You turned into a cap and bells for Folly's coronation

And made a foolish tinkling from my laughter and my moans.

You have led me through the market like an ass upon the halter,

You have fed me upon thistles; I was driven by the crowd;

But my faith in what I am, my conceit, you cannot alter;

I was proud in pomp and purple, as a clown I leave you proud!

A greater pride than sits upon a throne for mere adorning,

A fiercer strength than in the gods of wood that cannot bow;

I tore my purple into rags and knelt to bear your scorning,

And I am rebel leader to a band of beggars now.

In the twilight of my love I stand and strew the bitter ashes;

They are blown into my eyes again, the fires that shone for you;

In the blushing of the sunset their ghostly fervour flashes

As they sink for everlasting in the darkness and the dew.

Your heart is as a moonstone hieroglyphed with secret letters;

You have never read my passion, as I never learnt their sign,

But I praise your haunting beauty and I bear the bruise of fetters

And I reel from your remembrance as I spill the ancient wine.

All those women I have envied with their pink and foolish faces,

Moths that have out-distanced me in circling round your head,

For the strangeness of your kisses and the curse of your embraces

And the frenzy of pursuing where your despot feet have led.

I will shout, and tear the darkness; I will snuff the candles sacred

With the rage of my abasement, with the blast of my farewell;

I will smile with cynic softness, but my tears are dropping acrid

And sizzling in a gutter down the white-hot streets of Hell!