AFTER JUDGMENT

TO OPHELIA L———

Published in the U.K. Vanity Fair

London, England

circa 1909

          So! Thou has given Thy judgment, God!

               And I am evermore accurst,

          Cast to the blackness of the abode

               By Thee—O Thou Who made me first!

          Thou Who hast made me, tortured me,

               Mocked me with life, mocked me with death,

          Mocked me with love—O misery

               Of each god’s death, of each slave’s breath!

          Yea, for that Thou didst give me her—

               Indeed my Dorothy! the sun

          That fires my life, the spell to stir

               My soul’s enchantments every one:

          For this I curse Thee! she was fair

               As day and brighter than the moon

          And all the gold stung in her hair;

               And all the dawn of May—of June!—

          Kindled her cheeks; her eyes were blue

               As all Thy skies, as all Thy seas.

          Her mouth—Oh God! her mouth that slew

               Imagination’s ecstasies!

          For while I praised the pearl-clear skin,

               The bright lithe body’s supple growth,

          By God! I could not even begin

               To say one word about her mouth!

          God! hadst Thou given me that one word,

               I now might praise Thee, though Thou damn.

          But oh! not ever a soul hath heard

               Its echo, O Thou great I Am!

          Lo! Thou hast made the winds, the stars,

               The sun, the moon, the great grave earth;

          Thou has touched the swaying nenuphars

               With music, and made godly mirth

          With corn and wine; Thou hast made Thee man;

               Thou hast loved and suffered, died and risen;

          But—hath Thy mouth grown white and wan,

               Sucked out into that strange sweet prison

          Nay, Thou hast never kissed the mouth

               Of Dorothy! as I! as I!

          Thou hast never felt its eager growth

               Upon my Lesbian ecstasy.

          Therefore I curse Thee not, accurst

               Who art in that one flower foregone—

          And I the last match Thee the first

               When that red mouth I fasten on.

          Farewell! O God, in endless bliss

               Crowned, with Thine angels singing by:

          I go to hell, with her last kiss

               Yet tingling in my memory.

          Nay, start not from Thy throne! I go

               At Thy black damning to the deep.

          Thou canst not follow me! I know

               This thing I had, and this I keep.

          God! I have loved. I love! I love,

               And shall love through Thine ageless hell.

          Thou hast the kingdom of the Above,

               And I, her memory. Fare Thee well!

          To Thine I Am—supreme exclaim,

               The total of all that may be said!—

          I answer from the abyss of flame:

               Dorothy! and her mouth was red.