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.