Malade - Audiolibro Gratis

SNAP-DRAGON

SHE bade me follow to her garden, where
     The mellow sunlight stood as in a cup
     Between the old grey walls; I did not dare
     To raise my face, I did not dare look up,
     Lest her bright eyes like sparrows should fly in
     My windows of discovery, and shrill "Sin."

     So with a downcast mien and laughing voice
     I followed, followed the swing of her white dress
     That rocked in a lilt along: I watched the poise
     Of her feet as they flew for a space, then paused to
         press
     The grass deep down with the royal burden of her:
     And gladly I'd offered my breast to the tread of her.

     "I like to see," she said, and she crouched her down,
     She sunk into my sight like a settling bird;
     And her bosom couched in the confines of her gown
     Like heavy birds at rest there, softly stirred
     By her measured breaths: "I like to see," said she,
     "The snap-dragon put out his tongue at me."

     She laughed, she reached her hand out to the flower,
     Closing its crimson throat. My own throat in her
         power
     Strangled, my heart swelled up so full
     As if it would burst its wine-skin in my throat,
     Choke me in my own crimson. I watched her pull
     The gorge of the gaping flower, till the blood did
     float

           Over my eyes, and I was blind—
         Her large brown hand stretched over
         The windows of my mind;
         And there in the dark I did discover
         Things I was out to find:
         My Grail, a brown bowl twined
         With swollen veins that met in the wrist,
         Under whose brown the amethyst
         I longed to taste. I longed to turn
         My heart's red measure in her cup,
         I longed to feel my hot blood burn
         With the amethyst in her cup.

         Then suddenly she looked up,
         And I was blind in a tawny-gold day,
         Till she took her eyes away.
         So she came down from above
         And emptied my heart of love.
         So I held my heart aloft
         To the cuckoo that hung like a dove,
         And she settled soft

       It seemed that I and the morning world
       Were pressed cup-shape to take this reiver
       Bird who was weary to have furled
       Her wings in us,
       As we were weary to receive her.

              This bird, this rich,
              Sumptuous central grain,
              This mutable witch,
              This one refrain,
              This laugh in the fight,
              This clot of night,
              This core of delight.

       She spoke, and I closed my eyes
       To shut hallucinations out.
       I echoed with surprise
       Hearing my mere lips shout
       The answer they did devise.

         Again I saw a brown bird hover
         Over the flowers at my feet;
         I felt a brown bird hover
         Over my heart, and sweet
         Its shadow lay on my heart.
         I thought I saw on the clover
         A brown bee pulling apart
         The closed flesh of the clover
         And burrowing in its heart.

         She moved her hand, and again
         I felt the brown bird cover
         My heart; and then
         The bird came down on my heart,
         As on a nest the rover
         Cuckoo comes, and shoves over
         The brim each careful part
         Of love, takes possession, and settles her down,
         With her wings and her feathers to drown
         The nest in a heat of love.

     She turned her flushed face to me for the glint
     Of a moment. "See," she laughed, "if you also
     Can make them yawn." I put my hand to the dint
     In the flower's throat, and the flower gaped wide
         with woe.
     She watched, she went of a sudden intensely still,
     She watched my hand, to see what I would fulfil.

     I pressed the wretched, throttled flower between
     My fingers, till its head lay back, its fangs
     Poised at her. Like a weapon my hand was white
         and keen,
     And I held the choked flower-serpent in its pangs
     Of mordant anguish, till she ceased to laugh,
     Until her pride's flag, smitten, cleaved down to the
         staff.

     She hid her face, she murmured between her lips
     The low word "Don't." I let the flower fall,
     But held my hand afloat towards the slips
     Of blossom she fingered, and my fingers all
     Put forth to her: she did not move, nor I,
     For my hand like a snake watched hers, that could
         not fly.

     Then I laughed in the dark of my heart, I did exult
     Like a sudden chuckling of music. I bade her eyes
     Meet mine, I opened her helpless eyes to consult
     Their fear, their shame, their joy that underlies
     Defeat in such a battle. In the dark of her eyes
     My heart was fierce to make her laughter rise.

     Till her dark deeps shook with convulsive thrills, and
         the dark
     Of her spirit wavered like water thrilled with light;
     And my heart leaped up in longing to plunge its stark
     Fervour within the pool of her twilight,
     Within her spacious soul, to grope in delight.

     And I do not care, though the large hands of revenge
     Shall get my throat at last, shall get it soon,
     If the joy that they are searching to avenge
     Have risen red on my night as a harvest moon,
     Which even death can only put out for me;
     And death, I know, is better than not-to-be.