HERMAPHRODITUS.

L'

I.

IFT up thy lips, turn round, look back for love,

Blind love that comes by night and casts out rest;

Of all things tired thy lips look weariest,

Save the long smile that they are wearied of.
Ah sweet, albeit no love be sweet enough,

Choose of two loves and cleave unto the best;
Two loves at either blossom of thy breast
Strive until one be under and one above.
Their breath is fire upon the amorous air,

Fire in thine eyes and where thy lips suspire:
And whosoever hath seen thee, being so fair,
Two things turn all his life and blood to fire;
A strong desire begot on great despair,

A great despair cast out by strong desire.

II.

Where between sleep and life some brief space is,

With love like gold bound round about the head, Sex to sweet sex with lips and limbs is wed, Turning the fruitful feud of hers and his

To the waste wedlock of a sterile kiss;

Yet from them something like as fire is shed

That shall not be assuaged till death be dead, Though neither life nor sleep can find out this. Love made himself of flesh that perisheth

A pleasure-house for all the loves his kin; But on the one side sat a man like death,

And on the other a woman sat like sin.

So with veiled eyes and sobs between his breath
Love turned himself and would not enter in.

III.

Love, is it love or sleep or shadow or light
That lies between thine eyelids and thine eyes?
Like a flower laid upon a flower it lies,
Or like the night's dew laid upon the night.
Love stands upon thy left hand and thy right,

Yet by no sunset and by no moonrise

Shall make thee man and ease a woman's sighs,

Or make thee woman for a man's delight.

To what strange end hath some strange god made fair The double blossom of two fruitless flowers?

Hid love in all the folds of all thy hair,

Fed thee on summers, watered thee with showers, Given all the gold that all the seasons wear To thee that art a thing of barren hours?

IV.

Yea, love, I see; it is not love but fear.
Nay, sweet, it is not fear but love, I know;
Or wherefore should thy body's blossom blow
So sweetly, or thine eyelids leave so clear

Thy gracious eyes

that never made a tear

Though for their love our tears like blood should flow,

Though love and life and death should come and go, So dreadful, so desirable, so dear?

Yea, sweet, I know; I saw in what swift wise
Beneath the woman's and the water's kiss

Thy moist limbs melted into Salmacis,

And the large light turned tender in thine eyes,
And all thy boy's breath softened into sighs;

But Love being blind, how should he know of this?

Au Musée du Louvre, Mars 1863.

FRAGOLETTA.

LOVE! what shall be said of thee?
The son of grief begot by joy?

Being sightless, wilt thou see?

Being sexless, wilt thou be
Maiden or boy?

I dreamed of strange lips yesterday

And cheeks wherein the ambiguous blood

Was like a rose's—yea,

A rose's when it lay

Within the bud.

What fields have bred thee, or what groves Concealed thee, O mysterious flower,

O double rose of Love's,

With leaves that lure the doves

From bud to bower?

I dare not kiss it, lest my lip

Press harder than an indrawn breath,

And all the sweet life slip

Forth, and the sweet leaves drip,
Bloodlike, in death.

O sole desire of my delight!
O sole delight of my desire!
Mine eyelids and eyesight

Feed on thee day and night
Like lips of fire.

Lean back thy throat of carven pearl,

Let thy mouth murmur like the dove's;
Say, Venus hath no girl,

No front of female curl,

Among her Loves.

Thy sweet low bosom, thy close hair,

Thy strait soft flanks and slenderer feet,
Thy virginal strange air,

Are these not over fair

For Love to greet?

How should he greet thee? what new name, Fit to move all men's hearts, could move Thee, deaf to love or shame,

Love's sister, by the same

Mother as Love?

Ah sweet, the maiden's mouth is cold,
Her breast-blossoms are simply red,

Her hair mere brown or gold,

Fold over simple fold

Binding her head.