In The Cage

The sounds of mid-night trickle into the roar         Of morning over the water growing blue.         At ten o'clock the August sunbeams pour         A blinding flood on Michigan Avenue.         But yet the half-drawn shades of bottle green         Leave the recesses of the room         With misty auras drawn around their gloom         Where things lie undistinguished, scarcely seen.         You, standing between the window and the bed         Are edged with rainbow colors. And I lie         Drowsy with quizzical half-open eye         Musing upon the contour of your head,         Watching you comb your hair,         Clothed in a corset waist and skirt of silk,         Tied with white braid above your slender hips         Which reaches to your knees and makes your bare         And delicate legs by contrast white as milk.         And as you toss your head to comb its tresses         They flash upon me like long strips of sand         Between a moonlit sea, pale as your hand,         And a red sun that on a high dune stresses         Its sanguine heat.             And then at times your lips,         Protruding half unconscious half in scorn         Engage my eyes while looking through the morn         At the clear oval of your brow brought full         Over the sovereign largeness of your eyes;         Or at your breasts that shake not as you pull         The comb through stubborn tangles, only rise         Scarcely perceptible with breath or signs,         Firm unmaternal like a young Bacchante's,         Or at your nose profoundly dipped like Dante's         Over your chin that softly melts away.         Now you seem fully under my heart's sway.         I have slipped through the magic of your mesh         Freed once again and strengthened by your flesh,         You seem a weak thing for a strong man's play.         Yet I know now that we shall scarce have parted         When I shall think of you half heavy hearted.         I know our partings. You will faintly smile         And look at me with eyes that have no guile,         Or have too much, and pass into the sphere         Where you keep independent life meanwhile.         How do you live without me, is the fear?         You do not lean upon me, ask my love, or wonder         Of other loves I may have hidden under         These casual renewals of our love.         And if I loved you I should lie in flame,         Ari, go about re-murmuring your name,         And these are things a man should be above.         And as I lie here on the imminent brink         Of soul's surrender into your soul's power,         And in the white light of the morning hour         I see what life would be if we should link         Our lives together in a marriage pact:         For we would walk along a boundless tract         Of perfect hell; but your disloyalty         Would be of spirit, for I have not won         Mastered and bound your spirit unto me.         And if you had a lover in the way         I have you it would not by half betray         My love as does your vague and chainless thought,         Which wanders, soars or vanishes, returns,         Changes, astonishes, or chills or burns,         Is unresisting, plastic, freely wrought         Under my hands yet to no unison         Of my life and of yours. Upon this brink         I watch you now and think         Of all that has been preached or sung or spoken         Of woman's tragedy in woman's fall;         And all the pictures of a woman broken         By man's superior strength.          And there you stand         Your heart and life as firmly in command         Of your resolve as mine is, knowing all         Of man, the master, and his power to harm,         His rulership of spheres material,         Bread, customs, rules of fair repute -         What are they all against your slender arm?         Which long since plucked the fruit         Of good and evil, and of life at last         And now of Life. For dancing you have cast         Veil after veil of ideals or pretense         With which men clothe the being feminine         To satisfy their lordship or their sense         Of ownership and hide the things of sin,         You have thrown them aside veil after veil;         And there you stand unarmored, weirdly frail,         Yet strong as nature, making comical         The poems and the tales of woman's fall....         You nod your head, you smile, I feel the air         Made by the closing door. I lie and stare         At the closed door. One, two, your tuftd steps         Die on the velvet of the outer hall.         You have escaped. And I would not pursue.         Though we are but caged creatures, I and you,         A male and female tiger in a zoo.         For I shall wait you. Life himself will track         Your wanderings and bring you back,         And shut you up again with me and cage         Our love and hatred and our silent rage.