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Steeps down which she sped with leopardess Limbs into miasmic deeps. "Swim," she gasped behind-- Then like a she-wolf whined. It almost seemed to me as deadening as the sluice of dreary Styx. Fire and foulness mixed with leadening Slush I drank; but swam the reddening Stuff a league with weary licks. Up a sulphurous bank We climbed, and there I sank. Again she laughed that laugh--a shrivelling, ghastly, gaunt, uncanny spate. Up I sprang and cursed my snivelling Soul for weariness--for drivelling, And for so forgetting Hate. "You will find him there" She pointed--thro her hair. I write these words from Hell where bloodily locked with him in fight I woke. Where we fall down caverns ruddily Spilt with glazing gore and muddily Dashed with stagnant night and smoke. Yet I do not care, For he groans by me--there. AT THE HELM (_Nova Scotian_) Fog, and a wind that blows the sea Blindly into my eyes. And I know not if my soul shall be When the day dies. But if it be not and I lose All that men live to gain-- I who have little known but hues Of wind and rain-- Still I shall envy no man's lot, For I have held this great, Never in whines to have forgot That Fate is Fate. DEAD LOVE If this should never end-- This wandering in oblivious mood Along a rutless road that leads From wood to deeper wood-- This crunching with unheedful foot Acorns, I think, and withered leaves ... Perhaps a rotten root-- If this should never end-- This seeing with insentient eyes Something that seems like earth, and, too, Like overbending skies; This feeling, well--that time is space, Space, time; and each a pallid glass In which Life sees her face-- If it should never end-- The road, the wandering and the feel Of dead infinities that seem O'er our dead sense to steal, And like seas cease above-- Would it much matter, love? MORTAL SIN (_Song for a drama_) Much the wind Knows of my heart, Though he whispers in my ear That he has seen me burn and start When I dream of your breast, my dear. Much the wind Knows of my soul! For no soul has he to lose On a mistress who can dole Kisses that drug as poison-dews. SEA-MAD (_A Breton Maid_) Three waves of the sea came up on the wind to me
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