Beautious Being

 

 

Against the snow of Being a high-statured Beauty. Whistlings of death and

circles of secret music make the adored body, like a specter, rise,

expand, and quiver; wounds of black and scarlet burst in the superb

flesh.-- Life's own colors darken, dance, and drift around the Visionin

the making.-- Shudders rise and rumble, and the delerious savor of these

effects clashing with the deadly hissings and the hoarse music that the

world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty,-- she recoils, she

rears up. Oh, our bones are clothed with an amorous new body.

 

O the ashy faces, the crined escutcheon, the crystal arms! the cannon on

which I am to fall in the melee of trees and of light air!