Irrational despair
Debases feelings I have nurtured
Hoping for release
That body thrill
Poised for the kill
And the game is set
The night begins
The fight begins
and the players know
the dice will win
Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the star-lit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood,
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and asleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of the mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
The years from you to me
For us the cherry bleeds
This passionate debate
The truth dictates our fate
We search forever more
We search forever more
Oblivion confides
The greater plan resides
We stammer as we lead
Dumfound, the final deed
The distance and the night
Transgress the morning light
Discharge the guilt we feel
Confessing what is real
The years from you to me
For us the cherry bleeds
This passionate debate
The truth dictates our fate
We search forever more
We search forever more
Anybody hear of plague in this town?
The town I've left behind was burned to the ground
A young girl on a stake, her face framed in flames
Cried "I'm not a witch - God knows my name"
The knight he watched with fear - he needed to know
He ran where he might feel Gods breath
And in the misty church, he knelt to confess
The face within the booth was Mr Death
My life's a vain pursuit - of meaningless miles
Why can't God touch me with a sign?
"Perhaps there's no-one there" answered the booth
And Death hid within his cloak and smiled
This morning I played chess with Death said the Knight
We played that he might grant me time
My bishop and my knights will shatter his flanks
And still I might feel God's heart in mine
And through confessions grill - Death's laughter was heard
The Knight cried "No, you've cheated me"
But still I find a way - we'll meet once again
And once again continue to play
They met within the woods - the knight, his squire and friends
And Death said "Now the game shall end&quit;
The final move was made - the knight hung his head
And said "You've won - I have nothing left to play"
The minstrel filled with visions - sang to his love
To look against the stormy sky
The knight, his squire and friends - their hands held as one
Silently danced towards the dawn
His hourglass in his hands - his scythe by his side
The master Death, he leads them on
The rain will wash away - the tears from their faces
And as the thunder cracked - they were gone
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The "Treues Liebes Herz" of Strauss.
Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.
We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.
Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.
They took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.
Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.
Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a living thing.
Then turning to my love, I said,
"The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust."
But she - she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.
Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.
Oscar Wilde.