THE UNATTAINABLE

Mark thou! a shadow crowned with fire of hell.

Man holds her in his heart as night doth hold

The moonlight memories of day's dead gold;

Or as a winter-withered asphodel

In its dead loveliness holds scents of old.

And looking on her, lo, he thinks‘ tis well.

Who would not follow her whose glory sits,

Imperishably lovely on the air?

Who, from the arms of Earth's desire, flits

With eyes defiant and rebellions hair?—

Hers is the beauty that no man shall share.

He who hath seen, what shall it profit him?

He who doth love, what shall his passion gain?

When disappointment at her cup's bright brim

Poisons the pleasure with the hemlock pain?

Hers is the passion that no man shall drain.

How long, how long since Life hath touched her eyes,

Making their night clairvoyant! And how long

Since Love hath kissed her lips and made them wise,

Binding her brow with prophecy and song!

Hope clad her nakedness in lovely lies,

Giving into her hands the right of wrong!

Lo! in her world she sets pale tents of thought,

Unearthly bannered; and her dreams’ wild bands

Besiege the heavens like a twilight fraught

With recollections of lost stars. She stands

Radiant as Lilith given from God's hands.

The golden rose of patience at her throat

Drops fragrant petals — as a pensive tune

Drops its surrendered sweetness note by note;—

And from her hands the buds of hope are strewn,

Moon-flowers, mothered of the barren moon.

So in her flowers man seats him at her feet

In star-faced worship, knowing all of this;

And now to him to die seems very sweet,

Fed with the fire of her look and kiss;

While in his heart the blood's tumultuous beat

Drowns, in her own, the drowsing serpent's hiss.

He who hath dreamed but of her world shall give

All of his soul unto her restlessly:

He who hath seen but her far face shall live

No more for things we name reality:

Such is the power of her tyranny.

He, whom she wins, hath nothing‘ neath the sun;

Forgetting all that she may not forget

He loves her, who still feeds his soul upon

Dreams and desires, and doubt and vain regret,—

Life's bitter bread his heart's fierce tears make wet.

What word of wisdom hast thou, Life, to wake

Him now! or song of magic now to dull

The dreams he lives in! or what charm to break

The spell that makes her evil beautiful!

What charm to show her beauty hides a snake,

Whose basilisk eyes burn dark behind a skull.