’Tis the marriage ring
Makes each fairy a king.”
So a fairy sung.
From the leaves I sprung.
He leap’d from the spray
To flee away.
But in my hat caught
He soon shall be taught.
Let him laugh, let him cry,
He’s my butterfly;
For I’ve pull’d out the sting
Of the marriage ring.
The sword sung on the barren heath,
The sickle in the fruitful field:
The sword he sung a song of death,
But could not make the sickle yield.
Abstinence sows sand all over
The ruddy limbs & flaming hair,
But Desire Gratified
Plants fruits of life & beauty there.
In a wife I would desire
What in whores is always found—
The lineaments of Gratified desire.
If you trap the moment before it’s ripe,
The tears of repentence you’ll certainly wipe;
But if once you let the ripe moment go
You can never wipe off the tears of woe.
ETERNITY
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.
THE QUESTION ANSWER’S
What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
LACEDEMONIAN INSTRUCTION
“Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there.”
“A fool tangled in a religious snare.”
RICHES
The countless gold of a merry heart,
The rubies & pearls of a loving eye,
The indolent never can bring to the mart,
Nor the secret hoard up in his treasury.
AN ANSWER TO THE PARSON
“Why of the sheep do you not learn peace?”
“Because I don’t want you to shear my fleece.”
The look of love alarms
Because ’tis fill’d with fire;
But the look of soft deceit
Shall win the lover’s hire.
Which are beauties sweetest dress?
Soft deceit & idleness,
These are beauties sweetest dress.
MOTTO TO THE SONGS OF INNOCENCE & OF EXPERIENCE
The Good are attracted by Men’s perceptions,
And think not for themselves;
Till Experience teaches them to catch
And to cage the Fairies & Elves.
And then the Knave begins to snarl
And the Hypocrite to howl;
And all his good Friends shew their private ends,
And the Eagle is known from the Owl.
Her whole Life is an Epigram, smart, smooth, & neatly
pen’d,
Platted quite neat to catch applause with a sliding noose
at the end.
An old maid early—e‘er I knew
Ought but the love that on me grew;
And now I’m cover’d o’er & o’er
And wish that I had been a whore.
0, I cannot, cannot find
The undaunted courage of a Virgin Mind,
For Early I in love was crost,
Before my flower of love was lost.
“Let the Brothels of Paris be opened
With many an alluring dance
To awake the Pestilence thro’ the city,”
Said the beautiful Queen of France.
The King awoke on his couch of gold,
As soon as he heard these tidings told:
“Arise & come, both fife & drum,
And the Famine shall eat both crust & crumb.”
Then he swore a great & solemn Oath:
“To kill the people I am loth,
But If they rebel, they must go to hell:
They shall have a Priest & a passing bell.”
Then old Nobodaddy aloft
Farted & belch’d & cough’d,
And said, “I love hanging & drawing & quartering
Every bit as well as war & slaughtering.
Unless they will bring in
The blood of ten thousand by fighting qr swinging.”
The Queen of France just touched this Globe,
And the Pestilence darted from her robe;
But our good Queen quite grows to the ground,
And a great many suckers grow all around.
Fayette beside King Lewis stood;
He saw him sign his hand;
And soon he saw the famine rage
About the fruitful land.
Fayette beheld the Queen to smile
And wink her lovely eye;
And soon he saw the pestilence
From street to street to fly.
Fayette beheld the King & Queen
In tears & iron bound;
But mute Fayette wept tear for tear,
And guarded them around.
Fayette, Fayette, thou’rt bought & sold,
And sold is thy happy morrow;
Thou gavest the tears of Pity away
In exchange for the tears of sorrow.
Who will exchange his own fire side
For the steps of another’s door?
Who will exchange his wheaten loaf
For the links of a dungeon floor?
0, who would smile on the wintry seas,
& Pity the stormy roar?
Or who will exchange his new born child
For the dog at the wintry door?
A fairy leapt upon my knee
Singing & dancing merrily;
I said, “Thou thing of patches, rings,
Pins, Necklaces, & such like things,
Disguiser of the Female Form,
Thou paltry, gilded, poisonous worml”
Weeping, he fell upon my thigh,
And thus in tears did soft reply:
“Knowest thou not, 0 Fairies’ Lord!
How much by us Contemn’d, Abhorr’d,
Whatever hides the Female form
That cannot bear the Mental storm?
Therefore in Pity still we give
Our lives to make the Female live;
And what would turn into disease
We turn to what will joy & please.”
LINES FOR THE ILLUSTRATIONS TO GRAY’S POEMS
Around the Springs of Gray my wild root weaves.
Traveller repose & Dream among my leaves.
TO MRS. ANNA FLAXMAN
A little Flower grew in a lonely Vale.
Its form was lovely but its colours pale.
One standing in the Porches of the Sun,
When his Meridian Glories were begun,
Leap’d from the steps of fire & on the grass
Alighted where this little flower was.
With hands divine he mov’d the gentle. Sod
And took the Flower up in its native Clod;
Then planting it upon a Mountain’s brow—
“ ’Tis your own fault if you don’t flourish now.”
SECOND SERIES
(1800-1810)
The Angel that presided o’er my birth
Said, “Little creature, form’d of Joy & Mirth,
Go love without the help of any Thing on Earth.”
MORNING
To find the Western path
Right thro’ the Gates of Wrath
I urge my way;
Sweet Mercy leads me on:
With soft repentant moan
I see the break of day.
The war of swords & spears
Melted by dewy tears
Exhales on high;
The Sun is freed from fears
And with soft grateful tears
Ascends the
sky.
Terror in the house does roar,
But Pity stands before the door.
Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau:
Mock on, Mock on; ’tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
And every sand becomes a Gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back they blind the mocking Eye,
But still in Israel’s paths they shine.
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newton’s Particles of light
Where Israel’s tents do shine so bright.
My Spectre around me night & day
Like a Wild beast guards my way.
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my Sin.
A Fathomless & boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
He scents thy footsteps in the snow,
Wheresoever thou dost go
Thro’ the wintry hail & rain.
When wilt thou return again?
Dost thou not in Pride & scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies & fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?
Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereaved of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears
And with cold & shuddering fears.
Seven more loves weep night & day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.
And seven more Loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying & forgiving all
Thy transgressions, great & small.
When wilt thou return & view
My loves, & them to life renew?
When wilt thou return & live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?
“Never, Never, I return:
Still for Victory I burn.
Living, thee alone I’ll have
And when dead I’ll be thy Grave.
“Thro’ the Heaven & Earth & Hell
Thou shalt never never quell:
I will fly & thou pursue,
Night & Mom the flight renew.”
Till I turn from Female Love,
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be ..
To Step into Eternity.
And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my Fate.
Let us agree to give up Love,
And root up the infernal grove;
Then shall we return & see
The worlds of happy Eternity.
& Throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
“This the Wine & this the Bread.”
[Additional stanzas]
O‘er my Sins thou sit & moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O’er my Sins thou sit & weep,
And lull thy own Sins fast asleep.
What Transgressions I commit
Are for thy Transgressions fit.
They thy Harlots, thou their slave,
And my Bed becomes their Grave.
Poor pale pitiable form
That I follow in a Storm,
Iron tears & groans of lead
Bind around my aking head.
THE MENTAL TRAVELLER
I travel’d thro’ a Land of Men,
A Land of Men & Women too,
And heard & saw such dreadful things
As cold Earth wanderers never knew.
For there the Babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe;
Just as we Reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow.
And if the Babe is born a Boy
He’s given to a Woman Old,
Who nails him down upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.
She binds iron thorns around his head,
She pierces both his hands & feet,
She cuts his heart out at his side
To make it feel both cold & heat.
Her fingers number every Nerve,
Just as a Miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks & cries,
And she grows young as he grows old.
Till he becomes a bleeding youth,
And she becomes a Virgin bright;
Then he rends up his Manacles
And binds her down for his delight.
He plants himself in all her Nerves,
Just as a Husbandman his mould;
And she becomes his dwelling place
And Garden fruitful seventy fold.
An aged, Shadow, soon he fades,
Wand’ring round an Earthly Cot,
Full filled all with gems & gold
Which he by industry had got.
And these are the gems of the Human Soul,
The rubies & pearls of a lovesick eye,
The countless gold of the akeing heart,
The martyr’s groan & the lover’s sigh.
They are his meat, they are his drink;
He feeds the Beggar & the Poor
And the wayfaring Traveller:
For ever open is his door.
His grief is their eternal joy;
They make the roofs & walls to ring;
Till from the fire on the hearth
A little Female Babe does spring.
And she is all of solid fire
And gems & gold, that none his hand
Dares stretch to touch her Baby form,
Or wrap her in his swaddling-band.
But She comes to the Man she loves,
If young or old, or rich or poor;
They soon drive out the aged Host,
A Beggar at another’s door.
He wanders weeping far away,
Until some other take him in;
Oft blind & age-bent, sore distrest,
Untill he can a Maiden win.
And to allay his freezing Age
The Poor Man takes her in his arms;
The Cottage fades before his sight,
The Garden & its lovely Charms.
The Guests are scatter’d thro’ the land,
For the Eye altering alters all;
The Senses roll themselves in fear,
And the flat Earth becomes a Ball;
The stars, sun, Moon, all shrink away,
A desart vast without a bound,
And nothing left to eat or drink,
And a dark desart all around.
The honey of her Infant lips,
The bread & wine of her sweet smile,
The wild game of her roving Eye,
Does him to Infancy beguile;
For as he eats & drinks he grows
Younger & younger every day;
And on the desart wild they both
Wander in terror & dismay.
Like the wild Stag she flees away,
Her fear plants many a thicket wild;
While he pursues her night & day,
By various arts of Love beguil’d,
By various arts of Love & Hate,
Till the wide desart planted o’er
With Labyrinths of wayward Love,
Where roam the Lion, Wolf & Boar,
Till he becomes a wayward Babe,
And she a weeping Woman Old.
Then many a Lover wanders here;
The Sun & Stars are nearer roll’d.
The trees bring forth sweet Extacy
To all who in the desart roam;
Till
many a City there is Built,
And many a pleasant Shepherd’s home.
But when they find the frowning Babe,
Terror strikes thro’ the region wide:
They cry “The Babel the Babe is Born!”
And flee away on Every side.
For who dare touch the frowning form,
His arm is wither’d to its root;
Lions, Boars, Wolves, all howling flee,
And every Tree does shed its fruit.
And none can touch that frowning form,
Except it be a Woman Old;
She nails him down upon the Rock,
And all is done as I have told.
THE CRYSTAL CABINET
The Maiden caught me in the Wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet