Lilith

Yea, there are some who always seek

The love that lasts an hour;

And some who in love's language speak,

Yet never know his power.

Of such was I, who knew not what

Sweet mysteries may rise

Within the heart when‘ t is its lot

To love and realize.

Of such was I, ah me! till, lo,

Your face on mine did gleam,

And changed that world, I used to know,

Into an evil dream.

That world wherein, on hill and plain,

Great blood-red poppies bloomed,

Their hot hearts thirsty for the rain,

And sleepily perfumed.

Above, below, on every part

A crimson shadow lay,

As if the red sun streamed athwart

And sunset was alway.

I know not how, I know not when,

I only know that there

She met me in the haunted glen,

A poppy in her hair.

Her face seemed fair as Mary's is,

That knows no sin or wrong;

Her presence filled the silences

As music fills a song.

And she was clad like the Mother of God,

As‘ t were for Christ's sweet sake,

But when she moved and where she trod

A hiss went of a snake.

Though seeming sinless, till I die

I shall not know for sure

Why to my soul she seemed a lie

And otherwise than pure.

Nor why I kissed her soon and late

And for her felt desire,

While loathing of her passion ate

Into my soul like fire.

Was it because my soul could tell

That, like the poppy-flower,

She had no soul? a thing of Hell,

That o'er it had no power.

Or was it that your love at last

My soul so long had craved,

From the sweet sin that held me fast

At that last moment saved?