Emblems Of Love by Lascelles Abercrombie
page 52 of 217 (23%)
page 52 of 217 (23%)
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And sent an infinite desire forth
Into the whole eternity of things. Yea, spirit ails with loathing secretly The irremediable force of being; Unless, with free expatiate desire, He shape into the endless burning flux Of starry world blindly adventuring Some steady righteous destiny for Spirit: Even as dreaming brain fashions the fume Of life asleep to marshall'd imagery. But we are in the way of this: and man, The more he needs to announce upon the world, Over him going like a storming air, That fashioning word which utters the divine Imagination working in him like anger; The more he finds his virtue caught and clogged In the fierce luxury he hath made of woman. Thence are we sin, thence deliciously Persuading man refuse his highest ardour. Too easily kindled was the ecstasy Of fleshly passion, with a joyous flame Too readily answering the Spirit's fire! He burns with us alone, so fragrantly His noblest vigour swoons delighted. Yea, Women, I tell you, not far now is man From hating us, so passionate the joy Of loving us, so mightily drawing down Into the service of his pleasure here All forces of his being. The pleasure soon Becomes a shame, scarce to be spoken aloud; |
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