Dark Beauty

I found a copy of Speculum Amantis published in 1889, this volume contains rare poems and song from the seventeenth century. This is one of the poems which I thought was beautiful.

BLACK eyes, in your dark orbs doth lie
My ill or happy destiny.
If with clear looks you me behold,
You give me treasures full of gold;
If you dart forth disdainful rays,
To your own dye you turn my days.
That lamp which all the stars doth blind
To modest Cynthia is less kind,
Though you do wear, to make you bright,
No other dress than that of night.
He glitters only in the day;
You in the dark your beams display.
The cunning thief, that lurks for prize,
At some dark corner watching lies ;
So that heart-robbing God doth stand
In those black gems, with shaft in hand,
To rifle me of what I hold
More precious far than Indian gold.
Ye pow'rful necromantic eyes,
Who in your circles strictly pries
Will find that Cupid with his dart
In you doth practise the black art ;
And by those spells I am possest,
Tries his conclusions in my breast.
Though from those objects frowns arise,
Some kind of frowns become black eyes,
As pointed diamonds being set
Cast greater lustre out of jet.
Those pieces we esteem most rare,
Which in night-shadows postured are.
Darkness in churches congregates the sight;
Devotion strays in open daring light.

James Howell

Bloodsucking

There are so many things one would like to change, some people one wished one had never met, there are some who suck all the life out of you.

The Vampire

You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,

To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
— Infamous bitch to whom I'm bound
Like the convict to his chain,

Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
— Accurst, accurst be you!

I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.

Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
"You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,

Fool! — if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!"

Baudelaire

Love poem

Don't know why this came into my head, but I remembered a poem I once read by Ginsberg, it was, in its own way, a beautiful love poem.


Love Poem on Theme by Whitman


I'll go into the bedroom silently and lie down between the bridgegroom and
the bride,
those bodies fallen from heaven stretched out waiting naked and restless,
arms resting over their eyes in the darkness,
bury my face in their shoulders and breasts, breathing their skin,
and stroke and kiss neck and mouth and make back be open and known,
legs raised up crook'd to recieve, cock in the darkness driven tormented and
attacking
roused up from hole to itching head,
bodies locked shuddering naked, hot hips and bottocks screwed into each
other
and eyes, eyes glinting and charming, widening into looks and abandon,
moans of movement, voices, hands in air, hands between thighs,
hands in moisture on softened hips, throbbing contraction of bellies
till the white come flow in the swirling sheets,
and the bride cry for forgiveness, and the groom be covered with tears of
passion and compassion,
and I rise up from the bed replenished with last intimate gestures and kisses
of farewell -
all before the mind wakes, behind shades and closed doors in a darkened
house
where the inhabitants roam unsatisfied in the night,
nude ghosts seeking each other out in the silence.

Allen Ginsberg

Song for thought

De Sade Soliloquay

See the light and feel my warm desire
Run through my veins like the evening sun
It will live but no eyes will see it
I'll bless your name before I die
No person in everything can shine
Yet shine you did, for the world to see
All a man hath will he give for life?
For life that's lost bleeds all over me
I'd fallen before but it never hurt like this
Don't leave me here to crawl through the mire
I'm without fault before the throne of god
Take from me the crown of sympathy
What do you think you'll see?
What do you think there will be?
Sit down! Did you see the sun?
What will we become? Great ones?
The mouths that dare not speak his name
Behold them, raised, complete and fine
The battle for our lives is oh, so brief
Take my hand and please walk with me
When I was young the sun did burn my face
I let its love and warmth wash over me
The melting voice of many, in the hush of night
Whispering tongues can poison my honest truth
Come dress me with your body, and comfort me
I dreamt of a dead child in my sleep
I wear a terrible mark in my head
My clean, white bed it calls to me
I must lie down and I want you to lay with me, in sympathy
No sad "adieus" on a balcony
For one last time, just walk with me
The beautiful gate of the temple, we must be saved
For deadened, icy pain, covers all the earth

My Dying Bride

The Spider and the Poet

I saw this web once and thought of a poem I once read.


The Spider

Artist, that underneath my table
Thy curious feature hast displayed,
Who, if we may believe the fable,
Wast once a lovely, blooming maid;

Insidious, restless, watchful spider,
Fear no offcious damsel's broom;
Extend thine artful structure wider,
And spread thy banners round my room.

Wiped from the great man's costly ceiling,
Thou'rt welcome to my dusty roof;
There thou shall find a peaceful dwelling,
And undisturbed attend the woof,

Whilst I the wond'rous fabric stare at,
And think on hapless poet's fate,
Like thee confined to lonely garret,
And rudely banished rooms of state.

And as from out thy tortured body
Thou draw'st the slender strings with pain,
So does the labour like a noddy
To spin materials from his brain;

He, for some flutt'ring, tawdry creature
That made a fluster in his eye,
And that's a conquest little better
Than thine o'er captive butterfly.

Thus far 'tis plain you both agree,
Your deaths perhaps may better show it;
'Tis ten to one but penury
Ends both the spider and the poet.

Edward Littleton