Thus did she speak. Her voice was like a flame
Of burning blackness. Then I felt the throb Of her still hand in mine. And so I came Gladly unto her. Yea, I, too, would rob Time of his triumphs.--Who would groan and sob Beneath his fardels, hearing sad men sigh When here is cure?--for Life, that, like a lob, Rides us to death; for Love, a godless lie; And Toil and Hunger.--Yea, what fool would fear to die?
Then seemed I wrapped in rolling mists, and, oh, Her arm was round me and her kisses dear On eyes and lips, and words that none may know-- What words of promise said she in mine ear! Drunk with her beauty still I felt no fear, When, past the forest, like some bounding brute, I heard the river roaring. Drawing near, Again she whispered, and my soul grew mute Before her voice that lulled like music of a lute:
"Within the webs of darkness and of day The spider Hours spin about thy world, Who now finds time to even laugh or pray, Cramped in a term of years that are uncurled Like coils of some huge monster, head uphurled To fang when the last fold falls! Slope on slope The night environs thee with space, empearled With hopeless stars by which men symbol Hope, Beneath whose light they breed and curse and pray and grope."
And so she brought me to the river's brink To plunge me downward. All the night was mine; And so, exulting, to Death's darker drink I stooped and drank.--What better drink divine, O man, hast thou? what wiser way is thine? Who find'st me carrion on a hungry coast, Sand in mine eyeballs, in my hair the brine, And o'er my corpse with bitter lips dost boast-- "Poor fool! poor ghost! Alas! poor, melancholy ghost!"
As to my soul--'tis pathos and passion. As to my life--'t hath a flavor of sin. What would you have when such is the fashion, Was and will be of the world we are in? Yes, I have loved. And have you?--Have you reckoned The cost of all love?--I can tell you: as much As a soul!--Is it worth it?--You'll know it that second You know that you love; and God pity all such!
My lover dissembled that ardor's pure beauty. I endured undeceived nor pretended; and gave All that his passion demanded--my duty, For I loved. And the world?--why, I was his slave!-- Should it worry I pleased him?--Propriety sorrowed, Uprolling her eyes as occasion, and--well, That lie, overglossed with a modesty borrowed, Assisted my fall and the end was--I fell.