PS >bm:fume and "t NNETTE HERRON %::^ 1- '\ ' -^ ;^X■'^^' y rias^ / rj^SIr:^ Book Copyright 1^^. CDFUUGHT DEPOSIT. PERFUME AND POISON BY VENNETTE HERRON BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER TORONTO: THE COPP CLARK CO.. LIMITED Copyright, 1917, by Richard G. Badger All Rights Reserved ^ Jb MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 0Cr27/9l7 ©CU47(;T93 1^0 I . To A. L. J. For whom these songs were written. CONTENTS Page Pan Pipes 9 The Choice 15 Songs of the South Song to an Exile from the South 25 When the Heart Calls 29 The Shuttle 30 Give Me Your Heart 34 To Chico 36 The Song the Vampire's Mistress Sings. ... 38 About Love To the New Moon 47 The Things You Laugh at 48 Aftermath 49 If a Woman Spoke the Truth 50 Poems of Pain Why? 55 Pain 56 Lament 58 A Soliloquy by the Moon 60 Send Me a Song 62 Rebellion 63 5 CONTENTS Page Pity the Impotent 65 The Quest 67 PERFUME AND POISON Pan Pipes PAN PIPES All the world once was glad — Laughing light — loving mad — With echoings from Pan's flute. But alas — dreary change! All the world's weary — strange — For now pipes of Pan are mute. There's an isle far away, Where the fairies still play ; It's ruled by the great God Pan. It's a blossom-starred maze, Behind silvery haze, Safe hid from the eyes of man. Rose and amethyst, green, 'Neath a fair, golden sheen. It floats o'er the ocean blue. All about, waves dash high; While above, sea gulls fly; Sometimes slant-sailed ships pass too. It's a most wondrous land. With a white-magic strand. Where grows a tall, wide-branched tree, Which once cradled an elf On its topmost green shelf, Soft rocked by salt winds from sea. 9 Perfume and Poison On a time, long ago, 'Neath a half-moon's pale glow, A nymph loved great Pan, the God. In the passionate glade Of the tree's purple shade They lay where the fays had trod. And the elf was the child Of their rapture so wild — Of moonshine and laughter born, Where a fragrant breeze sighed And a white sea-bird cried — Its mate, on the wing, wind torn. T'was a mischievous sprite — A small imp of delight — Who lived in the treetop high. Swung and swayed on a limb, While the waves sang to him, He laughed, when the stars flashed by. Very quickly he grew, Fed on honey and dew; He culled all the sweets of flowers. Oft he raced o'er the land ; Sometimes rolled on the sand, Or frolicked and frisked for hours. Then he flew with the birds ; Also ran with the herds Of deer, through the forest deep; lO Pan Pipes And he tickled the toes Of his wee fairy foes, Whene're he found them asleep. With bright butterflies too The elf fluttered and flew; Of sport there was never lack. He perched high on a sail And there tweaked by the tail A comet, fire trailing back. Last he plucked the tree's fruit. While he list to the lute Of Pan, on the grass below. Then he glimpsed the mermaids In their deep sea-green shades Soft wavering to and fro. And he saw the nymphs dance And the small monkeys prance — Glad nature all harking the call Of the wild, lilting tune And the lullaby croon Of Pan-pipes, commanding all. Then 'neath moonlight's white gleam, With the fairies a-dream, The elf dropped down from the tree. Where great Pan stretched in sleep. The elf came, with a creep. And snatched the pipes, lying free. II Perfume and Poison Through the forest he ran With the reed pipes of Pan; They followed him, where he went — The brute beasts — the gay imps — Brilliant birds and bright nymphs — Until the white night was spent. Then the great God awoke And discovered the joke; But failed to consider it light. "What you've done is a sin. "Come you here — do not grin!" He cried. 'Til treat you aright. "For your crime," said the God, With a terrible nod, "You'll suffer a weary span. "You shall have a new birth, "And shall live upon Earth, "Locked in the heart of a man. "And wherever you go, "In the world to and fro, "The maids will dance, while you play "But you'll see all the while "Your own green, sun-kissed isle, "And feel the fly of salt spray. "In your house, dim and dark — "In the street — in the park — "You'll hear the white bird's wild call ; 12 Pan Pipes "And again on the land "You'll remember the strand, "Bright gold, where the waters fall. "Oh, the hum of the bees — "And the cocoanut trees — "These things you may not forget ; "While the red deer's swift dash "And the humming-bird's flash "Will torture you to regret. "Where the flying fish leap "And the coral snakes creep "And white sails flare 'gainst blue sky- "In Earth's cities, drab-grey, "Where dull day follows day, "They'll call to you by and by. "And you may not return, "Though you fever and burn, "Till you bring my pipes to me. "You will keep them, I know — "To the earth, you shall go, "And learn there to love your tree. "For 'tis all very well "To make music a spell "That'll draw all maids after you; "But 'tis better by far "To live under your star, "In Elfland, by ocean blue." 13 Perfume and Poison So the elf came to Earth And found little of worth ; Of the maids he has his fill ; But he longs for the breeze Of free, foam-tossed seas — And the pipes of Pan are still. l'envoie 'Tis the soul of the elf That so troubles yourself Oh boy, in the guise of man. Would you refind your tree — Go to live there with me? Restore then, the pipes to Pan. U The Choice THE CHOICE Once upon a time, a maiden, stepping softly through the green shadows of a sun-dappled wood, came upon a youth, who lay idly by the side of a flowing stream. The maid had tawny hair and lips like a dangling cherry, ripe for the pluck- ing. The youth was straight and slender, with a mocking, down-drooped mouth and calm, grey eyes. Like any two forest creatures, they gazed at each other an instant, alert, but silent. Then the girl drew a strand of yellow hair veil-like about her face and smiled at him through the gold. He surveyed her with cool pleasure — as a man looks at a bird, or a flower. She took a step backward and half turned away her head — watching all the while out of the corners of her dusky eyes. He smiled in- dulgently; but made no move. She pouted a little and drew nearer. "Wouldn't you like to see my garden?" she queried, shy, but direct as a child. Then combining fear with coquetry, she ran a little way off among the trees, trailing laughter over her shoulder. He yawned, stretched, and rose leisurely. After all, she was what the morning had brought him. The maid tripped on, making a pretty feint of fleeing, and the youth followed ; but failed to give her the satisfaction of pursuing. Thus they came to a great gate, over-grown with crimson roses. The maid pushed the flower-latticed 15 Perfume and Poison doors ajar and held them so, for him to enter. Hot perfumes greeted them. The garden was vast, and a blaze of color — a riot of joy, with a filliping back- ground of fear. There were palms bedecked with orchids ; there were great moss-covered rocks ; ferns breast-high; coral, and passion-flower vines ; jasmine and magnolia trees. There were fields of scarlet poppies, out-stretched in abandon to the sun's ca- resses. There were springs and brooks, filled with flashing fish ; and deep, dark pools, where pink lotus grew. There were purple berries, dripping poison; and the gleam of flame-tinged eyes in blue-green depths, unexplored. There were, too, many weird, fantastic things, for which man has no name. Monkeys swung from branch to branch ; a panther lay basking upon a sun-warmed ledge; a flock of parrots flew shrieking over-head ; shin- ing serpents slipped through the grass; and a pea- cock strutted by the river's brink. Scents and bird- songs, the flutter of bright, butterfly wings, innumer- able twitterings and cooings, distant bowlings and roarings — all of these blended and fiHud the air with the mystery and the compelling lure of strange music. This was the far-away place — the unknown goal of all longing — the paradise garden, which is never found ; but the memory of which comes to hurt and haunt the hearts of men — recalled for a moment by a song, a picture, a poem — or a sudden glimpse of the sea. All day, the maid wooed the youth and kept him contented in her garden. She brought him warm, i6 The Choice luscious fruits, tasting of sunshine — and held them for him to eat, while the golden juices trickled through her pink-tipped fingers — honey too, like liquid amber ; — and then she knelt by a crystal spring and made of her hand an alabaster goblet, with which to give him drink. She garlanded herself with blos- soms and danced for him; and then threw herself breast-down upon the flower-starred grass at his feet, to tell him tales. Lying thus, with her round chin cupped in her palms and her tiny, pink heels clapped together in the air, she was so much a part of the garden that the wind, which rippled the river reeds, seemed to ripple her too. Through the golden, glowing day, the youth ac- cepted her homage ; and when night fell, purple and languorous, and she caught at his ankles and drew him down to his knees and then into her arms — begging the while for love — he answered her plead- ing with gracious caresses. Still he would not long remain, and, try as she would, the maid could not hold him. One comfort he left, however. She might seek him, if she would, within the walls of his own estate-^for he too had a garden. The next day, therefore, the maid set out and, dancing elf-like along the path the youth had indi- cated, she came soon to a pair of high, handsome doors, wrought of silver, iron and bronze, and stand- ing between tall pillars of white marble. Peering through the intricate grilling, the maid could see rows of poplars and evergreens ; long, state- 17 Perfume and Poison ly terraces; white statues and clear, blue waters, where swans floated sedately. Everything was cool, calm and quiet — green, grey-blue and white. There was a breeze; but no wind. As far as the eye could reach, there were vistas of clipped hedges, marble pillars, and carefully cultivated trees. In the back- ground stood a Greek temple. A gardener, in a blue smock and with a pruning knife in his hand, was the only living thing, except the swans, in sight. The maid shivered slightly and turned away. But just then the youth appeared at the top of one of the tall, gate-way posts. He sat lightly and easily upon the polished, hard stone, like a finished, clean-chiseled statue, upon its pedestal. Plainly he was a part of his garden, as she was a part of her's. "What are you doing up there?" the maid called out to him. "I sit up here awhile each day, in order to look dov/n and laugh at the world. Would you like to come inside? The gardener will open the gates for you. The maid looked wistfully up at the youth, who smiled amusedly down at her. "No," she said at length. "Your garden is ugly and cold. There are no flowers — no color — no birds." That was indeed the way his abode looked to her ; but she hoped, nevertheless, that he would urge, and even compel her to go inside. What he did, was to remain upon his post and to reply courteously, but with indifference and with just a touch of benign su- i8 The Choice periority, "As you like. Some day you will return to beg admission at my gate." Then the maid was angry and stamped her small, bare foot upon the ground. "Never!" she cried. "Never — never!" and she ran away, fluttering like a golden butterfly through the forest. Months passed and the maid was happy and danced and sang and loved in her garden — luring thither whomever she fancied out of the world — giving them mad, glorious, gorgeous happiness, and then drifting them, when she wearied, into drugged dreams and death. Only now and again, when she passed a night alone on her bed of crushed roses, the maid stretched out her arms in the hot stillness, under the white moonlight, and wept — remembering the youth, who had no need of her. The summer passed ; autumn came, and then winter, and one morning the youth, looking down from his pillar, beheld the maid, huddled and for- lorn, with her face pressed against his doors. "What is the trouble, little one?" he hailed her kindly, with still a half-formed smile at her evident wishfulness to enter. "Winter has come," answered the maid. "My flowers are dead." My rivers are frozen. My beasts are asleep in their caves. There is snow on my grass. I am alone and oh, so cold." "Well, what can I do for you, child? I am not a God, to bring back the summer." "No, but your garden looks so green and warm." "It looks exactly as it did, when you refused to 19 Perfume and Poison come into it. My garden does not change. Upon everything there is a price. The desolation of win- ter follows always the passionate, full-blown sum- mer. We knew that long ago — you and I — and we each made our choice. But now that you have come to me, I myself will give you one more chance. Come and dwell in my garden, if you will. It is green and cool and serene. You will never sufFer and you will find content — and, for a little while each day, you too may sit up high and look down and laugh at the world." "And the price?" breathed the maid. "A trifle — only that having once entered, you must remain." "Forever?" "Forever." The maid stared in through the grill and ponder- ed. It was very cold outside and his garden appear- ed warm and comfortable by comparison. But then a new thought came to her and she stepped back, so that she might better look up at the youth. "It is cold out here and dreary," she cried, "and it may be that I shall die — but for me, there is spring! For you, there is endless monotony. Would I sell the power to laugh for love and joy, for the right to laugh at myself and the world? Would I sit forever by your clear blue river and watch the swans float by, when I know that sometime the roses and the poppies will bloom again, and I can dance in the sunshine and lie in the fragrance, be- neath the moon, and call men to be my lovers ? No 20 The Choice — a thousand times no! You are well content and very powerful up there on your post — but I shall go farther than you, for I have courage. I would rather die in the winter cold than never to live again where the serpent creeps, and the poison drips, but where all things are warm and beautiful. I will starve for months, if I may once more feast on honey and sun-kissed fruits. I will thirst forever, just to keep the dream of being drunk with golden wine. I will go back to my garden and sing to myself, lying alone in the snow, but knowing that summer will come again." "Brave, strange, foolish creature," said the youth, "tell me your name." "I am Poetry," answered the maid, "and you?" "I," responded the youth — from his great, high pillar, where he stood, laughing down at the world, "am called Philosophy." 21 SONGS OF THE SOUTH So Jig to an Exile from the South SONG TO AN EXILE FROM THE SOUTH I will dip my brush deep in the shadows, Through the mists of my dreams, to the true; And from colors in heart-pools reflected. Will I paint my three wishes for you. First, through verdure a low, winding tunnel. Hung with vines — there lies green 'neath my dream — Bound with moss, with bloom spangled and thorn- pierced — Hot and quivering, choked with earth-steam. Green marsh mazes, 'mid lilies and ferns mired, Faintly shimm'ring, untouched by sun's sheen, Where strange birds strut and stop, their beaks dipping Into fog-filled, filmed lakes — liquid green. Overhead palm leaves lace and o'erlap there. Where the breeze sultry rustles its sigh; Through the rifts in the tunnel's green roof torn Gleams the glow of this emerald sky. Scaly serpents through underbrush slipping; High above flocks of parroquets call; Poison drips; ripe fruit falls; and streams murmur; Stillness yet — silence, heavy o'er all. 25 Perfume and Poison And so green is the mist, green the air is; Green the bamboo and high, arching tree ; Green the shadows on black water swinging, Where the river runs swift to the sea. Green the parrot; and cold green the snake is — The striped lizzard, below the wet stone; E'en the stumps, rotten trunks, broken branches Green with orchids and creepers o'ergrown. Thus green is the trail. Next I'll paint with gold shining a ribbon; Stretched, as always, twixt blue and wood-green — Green of cocoanut palm at brink bending — Blue of ocean — the beach gold, between. Of glad, glistening sunlight a streamer. Caught and held to the earth by the day ; A pale band 'neath a tropic moon wan grown, When the ships rock at night in the bay. A fair, siren strip, luring, compelling; For love burning; cool shaded for play; A warm bed, softly saffron and yielding Where the tide's lapping lulls care away. Jewel-starred is the yellow, and fretted ; Tracked by gulls; sea-weed spread, with gold strings ; Crossed by starfish and shells; coral dotted; Flecked by flight of gold butterfly wings. 26 Song to an Exile from the South Tinged with gold are the tips of the palm trees; Gold are bills of bright birds — the curved floor; Also gold are the sun-dazzled ripples — All the glitter and glare of the shore. Oh, a flash and a laugh and caresses, On the strand, by the waves, breaking bold, And a sigh, where the glamour of moon-spray Veils an isle and a sail — these are gold. Thus gold is the sand. I will soak my brush last with the blue paint, With a hundred — a million — blue tints. Caught in memory's deepest recesses, Where the light of the blue ever glints. Lying there a broad reach of blue ocean. Silver-dimpled by laughs of the sun ; A white sail; a blue gull; salt spray splashing; A blue sky — and one picture is done. Then a sapphire in gold, amongst islands; A blue bay, rimmed with rocks, like white pearls: Mirror depths, where the fish swim in azure; Shadowed caves where the breaker unfurls. And next, indigo swells darkly rolling 'Neath an indigo sky's vast expanse ; Streaks of foam on the oil of the billows, 'Neath the roar of the storm-cloud's advance. 27 Perfume and Poison Last, the purple-blue haze of the distance, Where the dreams fly, like birds, in the mist; Where the infinite blue melts in silver; And the sea and the sky keep their tryst. All the blues of the world are enmeshed there — Turquoise-blue — jewel-hue — all entwined ; Blue of Heaven lies low in the water, Like the dreams in the heart, undefined. Thus blue is the sea. Green for hope — blue for joy — in my wishes; More than these, the hot gold of the sand. To the parched from the hills, it is ocean ; To the storm-tossed at sea, it is land. 28 When the Heart Calls WHEN THE HEART CALLS A rosy sky showed above a crimson hill, (There's a moment of pink dusk before the fall of southern nights), While orchid-tinged waters in the marsh lay still. (In the southlands ruddy rivers mirror changing evening lights). Against a green bank a sumac bush glowed red — (As the brilliance of the scarlet, heavy-drooped hibiscus blooms.) A thin, white fog crept beside the river bed — (Like the jungle mist, which drifts through sultry, fever-weighted glooms. ) Upon a pale peak an amber cottage stood. (Golden glimm'ring gleams the moonlight on bam- boo and sun-dried thatch.) Far plaintive singing sounded deep in the wood. (How the wailing songs of brown folk can the senses whirl and catch!) Sunset and moonrise over autumn-wooed land, Flushed in tropic tints and amorous, the cold, north- ern calm. And painted shining waters with a magic hand — (One tall, plume-tipped tree against the sky looked almost like a palm.) 29 Perfume and Poison THE SHUTTLE There's a shuttle, that is weaving at the fabric, That is drawing back and forth the magic thread Of the tapestry of fantasy that's spread here, Made of moonlight, wove' with tropic's gold and red. High above the rushing river stands the village. Cupped it is, in bowl of growing, living green. Black the water flows below it, while the palm-trees Stately, stand along the bank — a feath'ry screen. On the beach cayuccas sleeping, in a row lie; And feluccas, with their sails like folded wings. Straight the stairway climbs the sand-cliff to the hamlet. In my boat I drift and dream where shadow flings. All the casas are of plaster, pink and yellow, Fringed with huts of golden palm-thatch, sun has dried, Set on poles above the earth high ; and beneath them Glow the fires of charcoal braziers — hags beside. O'er the roof-trees hang ripe mangoes and bananas; Calabash' and cocoanuts are piled without; Coral-vine and red hibiscus — fragrant jasmine — Passion-flowers drape their blossoms all about. 30 The Shuttle Green-black is the jungle 'round it; and the village Is a rainbow-petalled bloom, against the dark. Smoky shadows, naked babies, and brown bodies Always shifting in kaleidoscopic spark. And the white moon, high above all, drains the colors, 'Til they gleam elusive, silv'ry as the flesh Of a woman, with a veil of gauze around her. Pallid stars are dripping earthward through the mesh. From the gloom-green sounds the laughter of a pretty, Black-eyed, ear-ringed, lithely swaying, dancing girl. From guitar, strummed by a lover, serenading, Soft the chords sweet, seep their way through love's hot swirl. There's a clanging and a danging of the church bell, As the padre, with his prayer-book, goes to mass. Yellow dogs are barking loudly and a monkey Howls afar, while in the plaza, singers pass. There's a shuttle that is weaving at the fabric. That is drawing back and forth the magic thread Of the tapestry of fantasy that's spread here. Made of moonlight, wove' with tropic's gold and red. Far away within the jungle there's a torch ring, Circling 'round a cut-out patch of hard-stamped ground. 31 Perfume and Poison In its center sit the drummers and about them, Weirdly chanting, naked black folk leap and bound. In their hands are candles burning — wild they wave them — While their arms are cased in wax, all dripping hot. 'Tis el cumbe they are dancing and their frenzy Wakes to madness, as they whirl about the spot. Mad they drink, and mad they love, and mad they kill, there, While the tom-tom's ceaseless beating calls to come ; From the forest all around them creep the captives, Who are caught there by the calling of the drum. And like goblins in an orgy, all together, In the flicker of the torch's smoky flare. They are linked and swept like leaves to devil- dancing. By the thrilling of the tom-tom's throbbing prayer. Now it rises; now it falls — in distance dying; All it permeates; it winds among the trees. Swaying, even I, in answer to its calling. Drift upon its beating — rock upon its breeze. Now, from out the jungle, creeps the mist of fever; Yet it is not quite a mist that shivers near. And again from out the forest steals a whisper; But it is not quite a sound that I can hear. 32 The Shuttle Through the night-air cloys a clinging fragrance; And it is not quite a thing that I can smell. AH my world is grey, yet brilliant — 'tis the spirit Of the paradox, the tropics, weaves the spell. And the shuttle that is weaving at the fabric, That is drawing back and forth the magic thread, Of the tapestry of fantasy that's spread here. Is the monotone of tom-toms — gold and red. 33 Perfume and Poison GIVE ME YOUR HEART A song to a humming-bird, whose heart is used for a love potion in parts of South America. Little bird, little bird, give me your heart. She will not hear me, birdling, So you must do your part. I've stalked you through the shadows green And trailed you through marsh mire; Blue butterflies about me dance. But you fly high and higher. Silver bird, pretty bird, rape orchid's sweet. She does not hear me, birdling. So come to me, Chiquit'. Aloft o'er tips of palm-tree tufts, You flit and hum there like a bee. Wee, perfumed spirit of pink dusk. Come, give your heart to me. Flutter far, flying flower, your time is brief. To rest in my love's heart-nest You can not call a grief. And hark, how wild wings rush to love, Through moon's white fragrant light — I only, am alone and sad — Give me my love tonight. 34 Me Your Heart Iridescent blue bird — winged jewel's flame, I'll set you in her heart's gold, Last link in lover's chain. Afar the drums are throbbing now — Love beats in torches' ring. Give me your heart, querida bird. Your songs in her will sing. 35 Perfume and Poison TO CHICO A Jungle Pet Tiny, yellow muffin ; Sugared honey-pot; Butterfly, fluffed baby — All this, are you not? Little loyal subject, Grant me right divine, Who can not deny Heart and soul are mine. Warm, wee golden watcher, Sleeping at my feet; Witching little beggar, When you wish to eat. Topaz-eyed and amber. Plume-white tail and ruff, Big your bark and bite are And your love's enough. Fire-eyed, white-fanged beastling, Stretch and yawn like that. When you hump your back so, Half you are a cat. 36 To Chico Born within the jungle, Tame for me alone, Saffron, slender fox-dog, Tearing at your bone. Now you sit and blink there; Well I know you think — Jungle dreams with heart beats Mystic mem'ries link. Guard you well your mistress; Hate you all the rest. Ai, chiquito perro, Such a love is best. 37 Perfume and Poison THE SONG THE VAMPIRE'S MISTRESS SINGS I It is morn, and I long for him. My hut is a golden bubble, Blown from a bamboo pipe; A film of sun-kissed palm-thatch, Floating 'mid mangoes ripe. 'Twas dipped from the jungle's cup green, And, like a bird, up here. Where hand of my lover tossed it, Swings, like a golden tear. I rock in my golden prison Through the long glare of day. Which cuts 'tween the silver night's gleam, Wounding the love-light's spray. I sit in my shadowed door here; Cling to my laiia vine. And shiver with fear of love — Drowning in red love's wine. Ah, how can I pass the day through, Till he comes back to me? I'll send the song of our loving Singing across the sea. 38 The Song the Vampire's Mistress Sings II It is noon, and I sing of him. What do you know of flowers — you of the north, Whose blooms are pale and sweet like things just dead — Painted and pallid blossoms, ordered in space — Cool ash of life, that will not live, for dread ? Riot of mauve and crimson, gold and bright blue ; All scarlet, white and perfumed are my flow'rs; Over the thorn-locked treetops weaving a shroud, Like blood clouds over fields in battle hours. Purple their lure o'er marshes — sands 'neath are mired — Their nets lie stretched above, like mad love's snares. Scorpions dwell and serpents, under my flow'rs; Wild beasts, bloom-bound are crouched within their lairs. Through their bewildering beauty, vivid as fire, I sink to poisoned pain's exquisite heart ; Drugged with the cloy of fragrance, 'til in the core Of flow'rs' fantastic world, I find my part. What do you know of fruits, too, you of the north, Whose fruits are cold and clean and soul-less things, Polished and piled in serried rows, and then showed On cloistered, sheltered shelves, in market rings? 39 Perfume and Poison Mine are profusion's tangle, sun-warmed and free; All yellow, orange, red, and hanging high. Gold of their juice's trickle dazes — compels — Can make me love, or hate, or kill, or die. What do you know of waters — you of the north, With rivers broad and bare to morning rays? Octopus-armed, my water lives; and it creeps And crawls and winds, through darkly shadowed ways. Swinging, it strikes, where green-shot shades into black ; It waits in patient pools and lurks and coils; Watching, it drags and pulls me down, when it will, To deeps 'neath deeps; though calm, it churns and boils. Monsters 'neath flower reflections, slimed where they sleep; 'Round lilies and lotus, anacondas twine. Mj^stery lies in water, w^ebbing its prey. It feeds its passion full — this stream of mine. What do you know of birds — and what of your beasts, Who know not stripe, nor spot, nor purr, nor will, Sinuous stalk of topaz cats, who so love, They thrill their paws with play of things they kill? 40 The Song the Vampire's Mistress Sings What of the birds with plumage rare — peacock things Of crest and ruff — exotic, gorgeous, flamed, Devil-winged souls, whose songs so mad are, and wild, They dare not sing ; but mock with cries unnamed ? What do you know of music, you of the north. Who do not know the throb of tom-tom's drum. Calling insistent, "Come you — come — to the dance! The dance is love and love is dance — come — come!" What do you know of pain's joy — you of the north. Who know not vengeance sweet — who understand Not him, who would kill him he hated, and yet Would cool hot hands in blood, at love's demand? What do you know of love, then — you of the north, Who do not know that love is sword and kiss — Mystery, too, and danger? Fear and rapt joy Embracing, lie 'neath rose and laughter's bliss. Low in the depths of thorn-pierced petals — soft lapped In lull of poisoned, perfumed mesh of flow'rs — Close in my arms, my lover fastens his teeth Heart-deep, in my warm flesh. Swift fly the hours. 41 Perfume and Poison Tendrils are dragging me down — festooned clouds waft And lift me high, while waters whisper 'round. Green are the glooms, and fire-eyes guard aye my love. While I but breath for him — no other sound. Panting beneath his caress, wildly I writhe. The hot, white moon burns through our bow'r. My mouth Cupped is, for him — my Star-God, mighty and dark A siren I, proud mistress of the south. Swing we in cosmic whirl — we are all love ! Our senses swoon, each into each. Love sears ! Heart of the south my breast bears — dream I to death. Such night of love is worth a thousand years! 42 The So tig the Vampire's Mistress Sings III It is eve and I call to him. Ah, come from the heart of madness — Come from the depths of life, Unhallowed and phantom lover, Come, for I wsiit love's strife. Come, shut out the sky with shadow. Cast by your wings, most dear. Enfold and hurt me to rapture Come, bring me joy of fear. Ah come! Through the dusk of jungle Soft, I can hear your sigh; It shudders it's need through treetops. Haste — for I long to die. The southland is made for loving. Come, you are sword — I, kiss. So come, let us each melt other — Lose we ourselves, for this. Ah, come then athirst, and drink me — Bare is my heart to sight. Ah come to me starved and eat me — All, I would give tonight! 43 ABOUT LOVE To the New Moon TO THE NEW MOON Oh, little, dripping, crescent thing, They say you have the power To grant to men what e'er they wish When seen at your birth hour. So silver, tearful, frail, you hang. It seems scarce true to me; And yet — no single chance to miss — I'll make my plea to thee. And I'll not ask for wisdom and I'll ask you not for gold — Nor will I ask for love from him, Who doth my fancy hold. World-scarred and battered, I but beg- And this my one last prayer — That dream of love within my heart May keep on aching there. 47 Perfume and Poison THE THINGS YOU LAUGH AT It is not by the things you say — Nor is't yet by the things you do — But it is by the things you laugh at That I know what is really you. 48 Aftermath AFTERMATH Would you have me sing you a love-song — Who have stolen the dreams from my heart, Who'd have me love this way and that way — You, who diagramed love on a chart? You, who said that all women fools were ; That men wooed us, but loved — more or less. You, who would have me love — not too much — But according to time, place and dress. Ah, you, who would love me but sometimes — And who sometimes would wish me away ; Who had place for me only after The true dreams and the work of the day. You, who feared to be bored, but feared not To lose me — one more doll turned about. Ever twisted, tossed and examined, Until all of my sawdust fell out. And now that I'm all limp and empty Would you hear, dear, just one, wee song o'er? You must know there's no hope nor loving, When the last of one's dreams is no more. Will I e'er have my dreams again, dear? But one thing still is left me to say — That full well must I once have loved you, Or you could not have ta'en them away. 49 Perfume and Poison IF A WOMAN SPOKE THE TRUTH Not as the wind loves the grasses — Not as the sea loves the breeze — Not as the lads love the lasses — Not as the birds love the trees — Not as the knight loves his lady — ^ Not as the cat loves the mouse — Not as the mother her baby — Not as the miser his house — Not as the banker his money — Not as the goodman his wife — Not as the soldier his country — Not as the coward his life — Not as a man loves his mistress — Not as the earth sun above — Tricked not in that, nor in this dress — Not so would I have you love. How — do you ask me to tell, dear — Can I be satisfied, then? Once, would you have the truth? Well, dear, The truth. — dare we tdl it to men? 50 // a Woman Spoke the Truth II Every laugh, that I laugh, gives me joy; Every tear, that I shed, gives me pain; Every thought, that I think, has portent; Every song, that I sing, sweet the strain — All this to me. Oft I sit 'fore my mirror and gaze At my skin, gleaming ivory white ; I adore the cleft shadow's amber 'Twixt my breasts — golden globes, left and right- So soft to see. My curled hair I coil over and o'er; Sometimes press my warm lips to the glass; Strut and preen like a peacock splendid. With my train, like a tail, on the grass — And never tire. Each touch of my hand is a thrill; Slender fingers caressing my throat — Scarlet tongue-tip against my shoulder — E'en my heart-beats all play, while they gloat, As on a lyre. All my dreams, they are wound about me — Golden gauze in a dancer's wild swirl — I can float myself into allness — I can drag the world into my whirl — Or so it seems. 51 Perfume and Poison I can hear myself say what I like ; I can be to myself what I will. I am beautiful — thus I would look. I can drink from myself, without fill. Drunk with dreams! Ill So, would you have once the truth, dear? I'd be to you brain — heart — pelf. Truly — I would have you love me Much then, — as I love myself. 52 POEMS OF PAIN Why? WHY? Much I suffer, that I may sing — At the least, I believe 'tis so ; But the good of my singing? That Is a thing I may never know. 55 Perfume and Poison PAIN Just to ache, through the damp drip of a spring — dismal — Following months and months of the shiv'ring sick- ness of cold — With a heart of ice and a head of fire; With dank bones sodden — red-hot nerves, like wire ; Callous dreams, that are crushed and old. That is pain ! Or to be a free soul among slaves ; and still hailed, "Brother." To be old in the ways of the world; yet indulged by those Who know not the joy, nor the stress of strife — Their fetish of fear guarding lifeless life — Blandly blind to the way you've chose'. That is pain ! Forced to live among persons despised — always con- forming; Bitterness for the need while, in pity, bearing their praise ; With their part to play and their role to fill; Your true self unknown ; your own voice kept still, Through slow sanctioned and censored days. That is pain ! 56 Or to long for the love of another — to beg vainly — Giving body and brain to the God of your futile fray, Till there's nothing left and your heart's hot flame Is but burned-out ash, in a burned-out game — Till you're tired — when she bids you, "Stay!" That is pain ! Or to wish and to dream and to fight; yet to be hopeful — Using all that you have — that you are — both your heart and soul ; Throwing all for fuel in the white-hot fire — Consuming yourself for your great desire — Drunk with dreams, far beyond control. And to lose ; and to lose ; and to lose — it seems for- ever ; And to weep — till your weeping is dried up in laughter ; then To burn hopes and raise others, one by one, Till the latest dies, ere the next's begun — Learning dreams are a curse to men. Till you damn yourself truly for trying — fate's fool ever ! Till your dreams are no more; till the glamour is gone from sin; Losing freedom's fight for what means your bread, Till you've ceased to care and the starved soul's dead — No more struggling. And then — to win. That is pain ! 57 Perfume and Poison LAMENT With chant of dirge my black-robed thoughts Pass slow and solemn through my mind, Like some procession of old monks — Their abbe' dead — as, stumbling blind Amid the smoke of incense and The reddened flicker of torch flare A-down stone steps his bier they bear. II A vine-stained, purple Bacchic thing — A spirit of allure and fire, Alive to help men to forget. But born to quicken their desire — A creature scarlet-gold, with hair All hot and shining like a sun; With skin as pinkly luminous As emptied shells — blue-veined each one. Or else with face a waxen flower. Cream-white, with mouth a crimson cup Where men may drink the wine of love — So drowning sorrow as they sup. A slim and sinuous curved shape — Coquetries caught in subtle coil. And heavy-lidded down-drooped eyes, Like topaz flames in burning oil. 58 Lament An amber creature worth a sin — To work wild magic in men's brains ; A vampire, sucking from their hearts Their love of her, to ease her pains. A thing for which to bear an age O suff'ring and remorse — to die, If need there were — at least to fight. Such is a woman — such was I. Ill I weep and sad is my lament. I gaze within my glass and see My hair grown grey — my eyes grown dim; My withered skin — the shell of me — All filled with worthless wisdom, gained In gay and past experience. I live, while yet myself is gone — A dreadful death in impotence. Consumed am I — a dried-up well! Men come no more to slake their thirst — But come to ask how they may win To some fresh spring. Be they accursed! And so I mourn in silent state, While thought processions in my head , Perform last rites and pray — for I, Who was a woman, now am dead. 59 Perfume and Poison A SOLILOQUY BY THE MOON How many million years I've lived; And watched men do so many things — And yet so few. They barter, love, and kill, and hope — That's all men do. They haggle in the market place; And hate him worst, who wins the most — Nor ends the game. Five thousand years ago, I saw Men do the same. Ten thousand years ago, men loved. Each thought his pains unique; each swore He'd not forget; Nor cease to care — for each fresh love. Men do it yet. They make a fuss o'er each new war — But fight on fields blood-drenched ere this A thousand times. More men are killed? "More men there are," Ripe reason chimes. And still they hope — and that is strange — For unknown good, in unknown time — I scarce know what. For it they live — for it they die; And yet — 'tis not. 60 A Soliloquy by the Moon And long I laughed at life and death — So droll it seemed. The same they'd fight- The same they'd pray — Each shouting still, "I'm I." I laughed To see men slay. But now, so old, and old, I've grown, While watching how they hope for joy — No change above — Alike — but wistful. So I weep To see men love. 6i Perfume atid Poison SEND ME A SONG I am still. Send me, World, a song. Am I never to hear your singing. Who have throbbed with your pain so long? 62 Rebellion REBELLION When I sit quite alone in the stillness, I can feel freedom flow all around me, Like a swift, but gentle stream. Where I float as I will and yet will-less; Rushing fast in abandon and simply, To the goal of my final dream. So I dream, while my soul in it's drifting Breathes as soft as in sleep — heart-beats share it — Neither ties, nor world-trappings near; With the goal at the end never shifting; With the wind and the stream on to bear it ; None to hamper; no thing to fear. Fearless I ; but my body in World lives. Where most men hate the others, who do things, Which they wish — or dare — not do. For the dull do not dream, and the world gives Little love to the dreamer, who wears wings And who flies where it can't fly too. And the cowards so fear to be hurt here By the breeze from the braver one's daring — By the drag from his undertow — That the weaklings, whose pale blood should spurt here, Kill, instead, all the strong, without sparing; For they die in their pity's flow. 63 Perfume and Poison I would float all the way down the river To the sea, where my dreams, like dropped stars, sleep — If I could, only once, be free; But I rest not in rippling sea-quiver. For my body is caged in the world deep And my soul — it is caged in mc. 64 Pity the Impotent PITY THE IMPOTENT Ah, pity for the impotent, whose hearts are breaking With ache of dreams, they have no way to show; The poets, who sleep, without the joy op hope of waking, World wonders burning in their heart's own glow. A dancer swirls on pink-tipped toes, Wild twirled in mist of golden gauze — Adrift on sweep of rythmic sound — Wine-flushed and drunk with mad applause. One sits sad-eyed in audience, Whose limbs are heavy, dull and still; While 'neath her hardened shell's pretense Her being sways to music's will. A painting hangs upon a wall — Reflection caught from other star In heart of one; thus free to all Through skill of him to make, nor mar. One passes by whose hands arc tied. Although his dreams in colors rush And all his thoughts have shape, he's tried And tried — yet cannot wield the brush. 6s Perfume and Poison A great man writes a worthy book ; And wistful, one there is, who reads, — Whose vision further goes. Yet look! All dumb is he, when speech he needs. A singer sings; her marvel voice Pours through the air, like liquid fire. It burns the core of men — their choice Is molten soft to her desire. I sit, white-faced and bitter-eyed, And know within my heart' grave too A voice's soul has lived and died — And I can never sing for you. Ah, pity for the impotent, whose hearts are breaking With the ache of dreams, they have no way to show; The poets who sleep, without the joy or hope of waking. World wonders burning in their heart's own glow. 66 The Quest THE QUEST In a country far away from here, there stands a grim, grey wood. No green thing grows there — only tall, gaunt, grey trees rise spectre-like from the dank and sodden ground, where many still pools of dark water glimmer faintly through the mist. Wan and withered leaves cling to the decaying branches, while swaying, wraith-like streamers of grizzled, grey moss hang down between; and drops of water drip from them into the pools below. The moss winds itself like a grey shroud over the tops of the trees, shutting out all of the sky. A film of vapor rises from the earth and a thick mist hangs low over the forest. Pale shadows are piled on darker shadows, wavering and ghostly, like a bank of storm- clouds, with blackness back of all. No bird sings there. Below is baleful silence ; but high in the treetops a lonely wind wails fitfully. A drear and dreadful place enough ; and yet a woman walks there — a woman wrapped in grey, like the mist. Her eyes gleam like the dark, grey water, and her hair streams backward as she goes, silently, swift- ly, through the gloom, tossing her arms above her head and moaning like the weary wind in the tops of the trees. But the woman's mouth is a scarlet flower. Now it befell, on a time, that the Chatelaine of a broad, fair land knew that the time was near, when she would bear a child. So she sent to the 67 Perfume and Poison four corners of the earth for wizards and magicians, seeking one, who might grant to her child the boon she craved. Many great seers came in haste to the court; but one by one, they turned away, as the lady whispered to them her wish, each one saying, '*I can not," or, "I dare not." Until at last, there was left only one, the great, great-grandfather of Merlin, and the most marvel- ous magician of all time. He said, "I will wait, Lady, and if, when thy child be born, thou ask me again, I will hearken to thee and grant thy boon ; but think well, Lady, for it is not happiness — this gift, which thou wouldst have for thy child — though verily, it is a brave and goodly quest." "And to all questing there is an end, and the end to this venture must be wondrous bliss." Thus answered him the lady. But the sage replied, "I do not know, for no man has yet made an end to it." When the babe came, it was, as the mother had dreamed it would be, a lusty boy, and all the court rejoiced. Then the lady called the sage to her bedside and said, "I have thought well, oh sage, and I ask thee again. Grant that my son may seek and find the greatest thing in the world." The magician answered somewhat sadly, "The gift is given. Lady. Thy son shall seek and find the greatest thing in the world — the scarlet flower of life." 68 The Quest The babe was the joy of his mother's heart ; but day by day he waxed taller and stronger, until he was no longer a child, but a noble youth, comely, straight and brave withal — broad of shoulder, slen- der-waisted, and tall as a young fir-tree — excelling all in sword-craft and hurling of the spear and well versed in much princely lore, taught him by the grey-beard scholars in his mother's court. At last came a day, when the youth sought the Chatelaine, as she sat among her knights and ladies in the tapestried, castle hall and spake to her eagerly, saying, "Lady Mother, always thou hast told me of the great adventure, that was to be mine, and thou hast gloried in it and hast taught me to long for the time when I might set me on my way. Permit me then, to go, for I dream night and day of the winning of the scarlet flower ; and surely the time is ripe. Do not weep, therefore, but speed me cheerily, for I will truly return to thee, when that which I seek is found." But years had taught wisdom to the lady, and well she knew in her heart that her son would never re- turn. Therefore she put him off awhile and sat alone in her chamber, and wept. Then she came forth bravely into the hall, and before all assembled there, she dressed her son in a rich vestment of green silk, with flowers and birds worked thereon in gold and silver thread ; and she bound her broidered girdle round his left arm and put a sword in his right hand — a sword of gold and silver, with great jewels at the hilt and many a device wrought with enamel 69 Perfume and Poison on the blade, in cunning workmanship. Then she kissed him and bade him go — but called him back to kiss his brow once more. The boy rode away on a great, white steed, decked with ribbands and garlands and tiny, ringing, silver bells. And he set forth singing, with joy in his heart. Full many a day he rode, until he came to a great field, set round with many-colored, silken tents; and strewn over with bright-hued flowers. There a fair company of maids and youths danced and sang and made much mirth in the glowing, golden sunlight. And one of the company came up to the youth and prayed him courteously to alight and join them, say- ing, "Surely thy quest is pleasure, fair Stranger, so comely thou art and young.'' The youth answered him, *'It well may be that thou canst tell me what it is I seek, for I know only that it is the greatest thing in the world, that thing men call the scarlet flower." The reply was this : "Love is the fulness of life, the greatest thing in the world, and thou wilt find it here." Then the youth thought in his heart, "It must be so, for see how glad they are, and hark how they laugh and sing in glee!" He sprang from his horse and marked the loveliest of the maids and called her to him — called her with insolent joyousness, knowing that she would come. Laughing, she came to him, and they went apart to a gold-embroidered, scarlet tent. 70 The Quest There followed days and nights of Springtime ecstacy and madness — a glittering, golden time of wonder. Every morning the 5'outh said to himself, "I have found the greatest thing in the world — the scarlet flower." And he saw not at all that the flower was set in grey mist. But after many days it grew hard to rest content ; and slowly, but exceeding surely, his dreams came back to him. At last came a day when he told the fair maid that he must leave her. "But do not weep, dear love," he cried, "for surely I will come back to thee." The maiden answered, "Thou wilt find me wait- ing." But to her heart she said, "He will never come." And she wept long and dolorously. The youth rode away on his good, white horse, singing still, though the garlands were dead and the bells rang no more. Long time he traveled and far, until at length he met a knight, a grim and mighty warrior, clad in clanking armour, burnished bright, and riding a noble battle-steed. A spear rested on his stirrup and his pennant fluttered free. "What is thy errand. Boy, and whither lies thy way?" Thus the knight asked graciously. "I seek the greatest thing in the world. Sir Knight," the boy responded lightly, "and I know not yet the way I must wend." "Glory is the greatest thing in the world. Win that, and thou hast won all." The knight spoke proudly and fiercely and the 71 Perfume and Poison youth thought valiantly, "I will tarry no more in the Fields of Pleasure. Glory and power shall be mine, and I trow the road lies clear at last." So he put oft* his mantle of broidered silk and lay by his jeweled, toy sword for battle-axe and spear. Everywhere he went, he slew wild beasts and fought great fights and conquered all men, until, by his own right hand, he made of himself a mighty man of valor and his fame was great throughout the land. Then he became king over a broad desmesne and men named him the greatest hero of all time. The glee- men sang of his deeds of arms, and in the twilight, mothers spoke of him softly to their sons. Long he reigned, while his renown waxed ever greater, and the country prospered. And oft-times he said to himself, "Certes, I have found the greatest thing in the world and my long task is achieved." But day by day the sense of fulfilment and frui- tion grew less and in their stead came doubt and unrest. At this time, there rode into the court a youth, even such a one as the King himself had been. And the King said to him, "What of the maiden who lives alone in the scarlet tent, on the Field of Love? Thou hast come from there and canst tell me. I was her lover once, and will be again, when I have surely found the scarlet flower." And the stranger answered him, "A woman, very beautiful, still lives in the scarlet tent ; but she does not live alone, and many lovers have come and gone, since thou wert there, O King." Then the King stepped down from his royal dais 72 The Quest and bade his squire bring horse and arms; and he rode away. But first he said to his people, **I must go forth on a high quest, but that finished, I will return to rule over ye once more." And the people shouted, "Return and reign again, O King!" When the King rode out, he was clad in mighty armour and he bore a helm of gold and a shield of gold and bestrode a gallant war-horse, caparisoned likewise with trappings of gold and steel. And the King was a lusty man in his prime, stern and battle- tried ; and he set forth shouting his battle-cry, high courage in his heart. He followed the long road until he met a man, old and grey, who tottered and mumbled as he walked, bent double over his staff. The monarch lighted down from his horse and addressed the grey-beard courteously. "Father, I seek the greatest thing in the world — the scarlet flower of life. Canst point out to me the way I must go?" The old man lifted his face, white, calm and serene, to the face of the King and answered him. "It is wisdom that thou seekest. Knowledge is the greatest thing in the world." And the King, seeing the face of the seer illumined with inner light, thought in his heart, "It may be so." Therefore he journeyed from one scholar to an- other, until he had learned all that they had to 73 Perfume and Poison teach him ; and he studied the heavens and the earth, until there was not such another sage in all the world ; and men came from far and near to sit at his feet and learn from him. Each morn he said to himself serenely, *'I have found the greatest thing in the world. I am con- tent." But this grew harder and harder to say; and on a certain day, there came thither to the hermitage, where the sage dwelt alone, a warrior. And the sage questioned the knight, saying, "What of the King, who ruled the country during the great wars, long ago? Do the people still hope for his return?" And the warrior answered him, "Many a king has reigned since he thou namest ruled there, and the people have ceased to think of him. Even the bards sing of heroes come and gone since then and the mothers name new knights as patterns for their sons." Then the sage saw the grey mist round the scarlet flower. But he set forth on his quest once more. This time he went on foot and went forth silently, robed in sackcloth and bending low over a staff- — for he was an old, old man, with a long, white beard. He stumbled, as he walked through the dust, but struggled on, until at last he drew near to the great, grey wood ; and the grey woman came softly toward him, with her arms out-stretched. But he saw of her only the scarlet flower, which was her mouth. Nearer she came and nearer, while he trembled 74 The Quest and waited. At last she set her scarlet lips to his and kissed him. Then he fell on his face in the grey dust of the road. The villagers, passing that way in the morning, found him lying there. 75