Where all is gold, and steel, and gems, and light, There shines, just like a useless star eternally, The sterile woman's frigid majesty. Posthumous Remorse Ah, when thou shalt slumber, my darkling love, Beneath a black marble-made statuette, And when thou'lt have nought for thy house or alcove, But a cavernous den and a damp oubliette. When the tomb-stone, oppressing thy timorous breast, And thy hips drooping sweetly with listless decay, The pulse and desires of mine heart shall arrest, And thy feet from pursuing their adventurous way, Then the grave, that dark friend of my limitless dreams (For the grave ever readeth the poet aright), Amid those long nights, which no slumber redeems 'Twill query--"What use to thee, incomplete spright That thou ne'er hast unfathomed the tears of the dead"?-- Then the worms will gnaw deep at thy body, like Dread. The Balcony Oh, Mother of Memories! Mistress of Mistresses! Oh, thou all my pleasures, oh, thou all my prayers! Can'st thou remember those luscious caresses, The charm of the hearth and the sweet evening airs? Oh, Mother, of Memories, Mistress of Mistresses! Those evenings illumed by the glow of the coal, And those roseate nights with their vaporous wings, How calm was thy breast and how good was thy soul, 'Twas then we uttered imperishable things, Those evenings illumed by the glow of the coal. How lovely the suns on those hot, autumn nights! How vast were the heavens! and the heart how hale! As I leaned towards you--oh, my Queen of Delights, The scent of thy blood I seemed to inhale. How lovely the sun on those hot, autumn nights! The shadows of night-time grew dense like a pall, And deep through the darkness thine eyes I divined, And I drank of thy breath--oh sweetness, oh gall, And thy feet in my brotherly hands reclined, The shadows of Night-time grew dense like a pall. I know how to call forth those moments so dear, And to live my Past--laid on thy knees--once more, For where should I seek for thy beauties but here In thy langorous heart and thy body so pure? I know how to call forth those moments so dear. Those perfumes, those infinite kisses and sighs, Are they born in some gulf to our plummets denied? Like rejuvenate suns that mount up to the skies, That first have been cleansed in the depths of the tide; Oh, perfumes! oh, infinite kisses and sighs! The Possessed One The sun is enveloped in crape! like it, O Moon of my Life! wrap thyself up in shade; At will, smoke or slumber, be silent, be staid, And dive deep down in Dispassion's dark pit. I cherish thee thus! But if 'tis thy mood, Like a star that from out its penumbra appears, To float in the regions where madness careers, Fair dagger! burst forth from thy sheath! 'tis good.