“See, she’s fallen on her knees! —Dead heart, take your ease— Cries for pity, none to care. Happy Pair! “Now the Marquis cracks the whip! Justine up-to-date. Cannot give _this_ fiend the slip, For his name is Fate.” Forty devils guard my head When I lie down in my bed. All night long they rave and jeer And I cannot choose but hear. 1920. _Pompes Funèbres_ _Round and round in a circle, slowly,_ _Two by two go the mitred mutes:_ _Death for the wealthy, death for the lowly,_ _Death for the pretty girls,_ _Death for the brutes!_ Two black horses with two black tails, And the long black coach with its four black wheels; Black-edged handkerchiefs, black crêpe veils— But who minds now what the dead dog feels? For a corpse is foul as the rose is fair And the young must love—and the old don’t care. To-night it’s the dance, to-morrow the fair. Bury him quick, with a carriage and pair! _Round and round in a circle, slowly,_ _Two by two go the mitred mutes:_ _Death for the wealthy, death for the lowly,_ _Death for the pretty girls,_ _Death for the brutes!_ _Ah! You Moon_ Ah! you moon, you fickle one, Traitor, like the cruel sun! You’ve disowned me now I lie Underneath this alien sky— Mad, because I cannot die. Once you liked us, long ago, When the woods were flower-scented, When my love, with tender eyes, Listened to familiar lies In the forest of St. Cloud. You were friend to those who woo ... Moon you might have warned, prevented Us from battening on hope, Thrown us down an end of rope! _This_ was coming, and _you knew_, Could you treat a lover so! Ah! you moon, you fickle one, Traitor, like the cruel sun. _A Little Poem on Sin_ Christ, since I turned my back upon your altars Joy has deserted me, the world is dull; The cry of passion fades away and falters, And what may be is no more beautiful. Hand me the scourge again, forsaken Master, Open your doors and bid me enter in, Then shall my pulses throb, my heart beat faster, And rapture kiss me with the lips of sin. 1920. _Heart and Soul_ The worn heart called the soul that flew, That soared on high, with fiery wing: “Once in a house of flesh, we two Dwelt silent, sorrowing. “I fled you for all false delights, Sister, I let you sleep and fade, While in the breathless summer nights With deathly joys I played.” The tired heart wailed and sank and died, Died terribly, a thousand deaths: Strange things that passed like wild-birds cried; The ghosts drew icy breaths. “Too late! My jewel, Bird of Hope, You slipt my grasp: now firm and free You soar to that Olympian slope Where every soul would be—” The dead voice failed; the soul flew by, Nor turned her course, nor dropped her wing: A cold wind shivered through the sky: The pale ghosts heard her sing.