Into Inferno I stalked to the stream where sulphur and brimstone well Through lonelinesses more deep than the Florentine’s Frozen Hell. I came to the nethermost place where Satan sate in splendor alone, The writhing limbs of anguished men were the pillars of his throne. His court was paved with dead men’s hopes stamped like designs into mud, From thousand scarlet candles came the drip of human blood. In his eyes were all the tortures of all nights barren and fever-tossed Of all who loved and won and all who loved and lost. And I grasped the hand of the Prince of Hell: “O brother once divine, Lo, all your thorns have pierced my side and all your hells were mine. Thorns of flame that destroy, remorse, with slow but infallible feet: _I have loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguerite_.” IV From the lesser gods to their masters, Time and Eternity, I turned--to crave the single boon that they could give to me. “I am the Pilgrim of Passion who ever must choose and grieve Between the earth-born daughters of Lilith and of Eve. For I have lost my way twixt Heaven and Hell and Earth, Give me oblivion,” I said, “or grant me another birth! Grant me another encasement where the flesh shall be the soul, Where good shall be as evil and pole as anti-pole. Let Lilith and her sister, both back into night be thrust, Fashion Woman anew out of their astral dust. Dreams of impossible joy and impossible loveliness meet _When beautiful Helen of Troy shall be one with the blonde Marguerite_.” MAN TO HIS MAKER From the white ulcer of thy snow, From the green leprosy of spring, Preserve us, Lord, whose mercies sting, Whose loaded dice win every throw. Foredoomed to perish in the strife With maggots fattened by thy breath, Free us from life’s mad lover--death, And save us from death’s nightmare--life. Blind microscopic molluscs we, Beneath thy scorn that spawn and squirm, Redeem us from thy gloating worm And from the consciousness of thee. If play we must this sorry role For thy amusement, spare the cant: Make man equal of the ant, Celestial Sadist! Take the soul. And crush us back into the sod, Whose fate is futile utterly, Save as a prank of destiny Played by a bored and bilious god. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES The drop-caps and uppercase letters from the beginning of each poem were removed for clarity purposes. Spelling errors and typos were corrected. A Table of Contents was created for this edition. New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.