Poems (Tree)/You Have Understood so Little of Me, and My Adoration
FLAME
YOU have understood so little of me, and my adoration
That shone upon my forehead, like a crown of curious stones,
You turned into a cap and bells for Folly's coronation
And made a foolish tinkling from my laughter and my moans.
That shone upon my forehead, like a crown of curious stones,
You turned into a cap and bells for Folly's coronation
And made a foolish tinkling from my laughter and my moans.
You have led me through the market like an ass upon the halter,
You have fed me upon thistles; I was driven by the crowd;
But my faith in what I am, my conceit, you cannot alter;
I was proud in pomp and purple, as a clown I leave you proud!
You have fed me upon thistles; I was driven by the crowd;
But my faith in what I am, my conceit, you cannot alter;
I was proud in pomp and purple, as a clown I leave you proud!
A greater pride than sits upon a throne for mere adorning,
A fiercer strength than in the gods of wood that cannot bow;
I tore my purple into rags and knelt to bear your scorning,
And I am rebel leader to a band of beggars now.
A fiercer strength than in the gods of wood that cannot bow;
I tore my purple into rags and knelt to bear your scorning,
And I am rebel leader to a band of beggars now.
In the twilight of my love I stand and strew the bitter ashes;
They are blown into my eyes again, the fires that shone for you;
In the blushing of the sunset their ghostly fervour flashes
As they sink for everlasting in the darkness and the dew.
They are blown into my eyes again, the fires that shone for you;
In the blushing of the sunset their ghostly fervour flashes
As they sink for everlasting in the darkness and the dew.
Your heart is as a moonstone hieroglyphed with secret letters;
You have never read my passion, as I never learnt their sign,
But I praise your haunting beauty and I bear the bruise of fetters
And I reel from your remembrance as I spill the ancient wine.
You have never read my passion, as I never learnt their sign,
But I praise your haunting beauty and I bear the bruise of fetters
And I reel from your remembrance as I spill the ancient wine.
All those women I have envied with their pink and foolish faces,
Moths that have out-distanced me in circling round your head,
For the strangeness of your kisses and the curse of your embraces
And the frenzy of pursuing where your despot feet have led.
Moths that have out-distanced me in circling round your head,
For the strangeness of your kisses and the curse of your embraces
And the frenzy of pursuing where your despot feet have led.
I will shout, and tear the darkness; I will snuff the candles sacred
With the rage of my abasement, with the blast of my farewell;
I will smile with cynic softness, but my tears are dropping acrid
And sizzling in a gutter down the white-hot streets of Hell!
With the rage of my abasement, with the blast of my farewell;
I will smile with cynic softness, but my tears are dropping acrid
And sizzling in a gutter down the white-hot streets of Hell!
1914