From thy moist lips, O Time, thou witch, beslavering me, Hour upon hour too slowly drips In vain—I cry, in frenzy's fit, "A curse upon that yawning pit, A curse upon Eternity!" The world's of brass, A fiery bullock, deaf to wail: Pain's dagger pierces my cuirass, Wingéd, and writes upon my bone: "Bowels and heart the world hath none, Why scourge her sins with anger's flail?" Pour poppies now, Pour venom, Fever, on my brain! Too long you test my hand and brow: What ask you? "What—reward is paid?" A malediction on you, jade, And your disdain! No, I retract, 'Tis cold—I hear the rain importune— Fever, I'll soften, show my tact: Here's gold—a coin—see it gleam! Shall I with blessings on you beam, Call you "good fortune"? The door opes wide, And raindrops on my bed are scattered, The light's blown out—woes multiplied! He that hath not an hundred rhymes, I'll wager, in these dolorous times We'd see him shattered! MY BLISS. Once more, St Mark, thy pigeons meet my gaze, The Square lies still, in slumbering morning mood: In soft, cool air I fashion idle lays, Speeding them skyward like a pigeon's brood: And then recall my minions To tie fresh rhymes upon their willing pinions. My bliss! My bliss! Calm heavenly roof of azure silkiness, Guarding with shimmering haze yon house divine! Thee, house, I love, fear—envy, I'll confess, And gladly would suck out that soul of thine! "Should I give back the prize?" Ask not, great pasture-ground for human eyes! My bliss! My bliss! Stern belfry, rising as with lion's leap Sheer from the soil in easy victory, That fill'st the Square with peal resounding, deep, Wert thou in French that Square's "accent aigu"? Were I for ages set In earth like thee, I know what silk-meshed net.... My bliss! My bliss! Hence, music! First let darker shadows come, And grow, and merge into brown, mellow night! 'Tis early for your pealing, ere the dome Sparkle in roseate glory, gold-bedight While yet 'tis day, there's time For strolling, lonely muttering, forging rhyme— My bliss! My bliss! COLUMBUS REDIVIVUS.