“Then surged the maddening tide
Of my intention. Onward! Let me run!
Thy steed, O Moon! Thy chariot, O Sun!
Lend me fierce feet, winged sandals, wings as wide
As thine, O East wind! And the goal is won!
Was ever such a cruel solitude?” [via]
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- “Oh cruel power Of wide deep thighs that make me furious As they enclasp me and swing to and fro With passion that grows pale and drives the flow Of the fast fragrant blood of both of us Into the awful link that knits us close With chain electric!”
- “I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes: ‘Thou canst not see her–but my Queen shall rise.’ Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No: she was too wise. Her presence was to gracious to endure. ‘She did not bid me go and chain me to her,’ I cried, comparing.”
- “‘Resolve all question by a moonward tread. Follow the moon!’ Even so the king had said. My thought had thanked him for the generous breath Wherewith he warned us: for delay were death. And now, too late! no moon is overhead– Some other meaning in the words he saith? Or, am I tricked in such a little snare?”
- “Having dwelt for some period on that dark side of the Egyptian Faith which dooms the impotent soul to extinction; I will proceed to discuss the career opened before those who, taking the reins of the chariot of life in their own hands, guide the elemental forces which are linked to that vehicle, safe to the desirable goal.”
- “She creeps alive upon the tawny sands, False glittering woman, girt about with lies! She steals toward me, the tigress sleek and fierce! Destroying devil, with long sinuous hands And hate triumphant in blue-murderous eyes! I nerve myself to spring upon and pierce With maddening fangs those firm white bosom towers, To tear those lithe voluptuous limbs apart And glut my ravening soul with vengeance. Heart Quickens as she draws near; the scent of flowers Breathes round her damned presence. Shall she live To triumph with those tainted lips of song — She whispered ‘Dearest, I have kept thee long’. I flung myself before her, ‘Love, forgive!'”