Clouds without Water/The Alchemist
The Alchemist
I
Love is sore wounded by the dragon shame, O maiden o' mine! its life in jets of blood Languidly ebbs. I see the gathering flame Aspire—expire. I see the evil floodOf time roll even and steady over it, Bearing our God to the accurst ravines; Bearing our God to the abysmal pit Whence never a God may rise. The wolfish queensOf earth have set their fates stern and sour Against us; we are bidden to cease—to cease! Ha! how eternity laughs down their hour, Dragoons their malice with its dominant peace.We are forbidden to love—as one who tries At noontide to forbid the sun to rise.
II
There is an alchemy to heal the hurt Done to our love by shame the dragon of ill With his allies the fear, that wars begirt With clouds, and that sad sceptic in the willThat sneaks within our citadel, that steals The keys and opens stealthily the gates When we are sleeping, when the dawn conceals Its earliest glimmer and our blood abatesAwhile its tide! O mystic maiden o' mine, Did I not warn you of the insulting foes? Blind worms that writhe for envy, pious swine That gnash their teeth to espy the gold and roseOut flaming like the dawn when kiss for kiss Passed and for ever sealed our bale and bliss.
III
Behold! the elixir for the weeping wound! Is it that wine that Avallaunius poured From the Red Cup when fair Titania swooned Before the wrath of her insulted lord?Is it the purple essence that distilled From Jesu's side beneath the invoking spear? Or that pale vase that Proserpina filled From wells of her sad garden, cold and clearAnd something overbitter and oversweet? Or in the rout of Dionysus did Some Bassarid prophesy in her holy heat On such a draught as I for you have hidIn this the Graal of mine enchaunted shrine To pour for you, o mystic maiden o' mine?
IV
Lola. The name is like the amorous call Of some bright-bosomed bird in bowers of blue. Tis like the great moon-crested waterfall With hammering heart. 'Tis like the rain of dewThat quires to the angel stars. 'Tis like a bell Rung by an holy anchoret to summon Out of the labyrinths of heaven and hell Some grave, majestic, and deep-breated womanTo bring her naked body shining, shining With flowers of heaven or flames of Phlegethon Into his hermit cell, her love entwining Into his life with spells that murmur onBlack words! For one thing be you sure the same My wine is as the music of your name!
V
Maiden. Believe me, mystic maiden o' mine, That title shall assure the throne of heaven To you—the more so that your love divine That maidenhood to me hath freely given?Nor have I touched the ark with hands unholy, Nor with unsaintly kisses soiled the shrine: Nepenthe, amaranth, vervain, myrrh and moly Are deathless blooms about our chaste design.Not you resisting, but myself refraining, Gives us the eternal spring, the elixir rare, That mage and sage have sought, and uncomplaining Never attained. We found it early whereThe Gods find children. Maiden o' mine, be sure My wine shall be as pure as you are pure!
VI
Sweet. O my sweet, if all the heavenly portion Of nectar were in one blue ocean poured Their fine quintessence were a vile abortion Bitter and flat, foul, stagnant and abhorredShould one compare it with the tiniest tithe Of one soft glance your eyes on me might shed, One gesture of your body limber and lithe, One smile—the sudden white, the abiding red!Then—should one slander you in idiot verse By speaking of the subtle seven-fold sweetness Your lips can answer me, all fate to amerce In one mad kiss in all its mad completeness?O Gods and Muses! give me grace for this To match my wine for sweet with Lola's kiss.
VII
Mine. 'Tis impossible, but so it is. My mouth is Lola's and my Lola's mine When in the trance, the death we call a kiss, Earth is done down, and the immanent divineExists! Impossible! no mortal yet Suffered such bliss from the all-envious gods; Whence we may guess we are immortal, set From the beginning over the periodsOf ages, set on thrones of jasper and pearl, Wreathed with the lilies of Eternity, While on our brows the starry clusters curl Like flashes from the sunkissed jewelry,Dew on the flowers our garlands. Ay! you are mine, And mine as you are shall I pour the wine.
VIII
Now I have told you all the ingredients That go to make the elixir for our shame. Already make the fumes their spired ascents; The bubbles burst in tiny jets of flame,And you and I are half-intoxicated (I hid the heart of madness in my verse) Therewith, like Maenads ready to be mated Before the Lod of bassara and thyrse.Yea! we are lifted up! Crested Kithairon Shakes his black mane of pines, and roars for prey. Heave all his bristling flanks of barbèd iron! Flesh thy red hunger on the bleeding day,O fangèd night! till from thy mother maw We wrench the lion child of wonder and awe!
IX
This wine is sovereign against all complaints. This is the wine the great king-angels use To inspire the souls of sinners and of saints Unto the deeds that win the world or lose.One drop of this raised Attis from the dead; One drop of this, and slain Osiris stirs; One drop of this; before young Horus fled Thine hosts, Typhon!—this wine is mine and hersYe Gods that gave it! not in trickling gouts, But from the very fountain whence 'tis drawn Gushing in crystal jets and ruby spouts From the authentic throne and shrine of dawn.Drink it? Ay, so! and bathe therein—and swim Out to the wide world's everlasting rim!
X
To drink one drop thereof is to be drunk. The firm feet stagger, and the world spins round; The fair speech stammers—nature's God hath sunk Into some trivial place of the profound.But he who is drunk thereon is wholly sane, Being wholly mad; he moves with space-wide wings Sees not a world—engulphed in the inane! Nor needs a voice for speech, because he sings.What then of them who are most drunk together As you and I are, mystic maiden o' mine, Beyond Dionysus and his tedious tether, Beyond Kithairon and his topmost pine?Why, even now I am drunk who scribble amiss These lines, not thinking—save of your last kiss!
XI
So Lola! Lola! Lola! Lola! peals, And Lola! Lola! Lola! echoes back, Till Lola! Lola! Lola! Lola! reels The world in a dance of woven white and blackShimmering with clear gold greys as hell resounds With Lola! Lola! Lola! and heaven responds With Lola! Lola! Lola! Lola!—swounds All light to clustered dazzling diamonds,And Lola! Lola! Lola! Lola! rings Ever and again on these inchaunted ears, And Lola! Lola! Lola! Lola! swings My soul across to those inchaunted spheresWhere Lola is God and priest and wafer and wine— O Lola! Lola! mystic maiden o' mine!
XII
I think the hurt is healed, for (by the law That forms our being) you must suffer as I, Hunger as I, rejoice as I, withdraw Into the same far transcendental skyOf this initiated rapture. Hurt Of shame for me is past, beholding Gods Only a little part of me, and dirt Such as men fling and women paste, no odds.Moreover, by the subtle and austere Vintage we drain, albeit we drain the less, There is no headache for the morning drear, No fluctuant in our tideless ecstasies—Whereby, o maiden o' mine, the runic rime Tells me we have ree'd the riddle of old Time.
XIII
Never, o never shall I call you bride! Never, o never shall I draw you down Unto my kisses by the dim bedside Bathing my body in the choral crown,Your comet hair! Nor smooth our shimmering skins Each to the other and mount the sacred stair Even from the lesser to the greater sins Up to the throne where sits the royal and rareVision of Pan. O never shall I raise This oriflamme, and lead the hope forlorn Up to the ruining bloody breach, to daze Death's self with pangs too blissful to be borne.No! dear my maid. A maiden as you be You may be all your lily life, for me.
XIV
Alas! the appointed term is sternly set Inviolable to this our colloquy. For though you be afar, my Lola, yet You have been with me, whispering to me.I bow my head to write, and on the nape O' th' neck I feel you lips. I raise my head To dream—you mouth achieves its luscious rape— I fall back—you are on me—I am dead.Could it be better? For I surely know That you will follow me adown the deep When I lay pen and paper by, and go Into the ardent avenues of sleep:—There also we will drink the appeasing wine, Lola, my Lola, mystic maiden o' mine!