In a Music-hall: And Other Poems

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Ward and Downey, 1891 - 120 pages
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Page 10 - At first the sensuous music whets The lustful crowd; the dim-lit room Recalls delights, recalls regrets; And then I enter in the gloom. I glide, I trip, I run, I spin, Lapped in the lime-light's aureole, Hushed are the voices, hushed the din, I see men's eyes like glowing coal. My loosened scarf in odours drenched Showers keener hints of sensual bliss; The music swoons, the light is quenched, Into the dark I throw a kiss.
Page 10 - SELENE EDEN. MY dearest lovers know me not ; I hide my life and soul from sight ; I conquer all w.hose blood is hot; My mystery is my mail of might. I had a troupe who danced with me : I veiled myself from head to foot ; My girls were nude as they dared be ; They sang a chorus, I was mute. But now I fill the widest stage Alone, unveiled, without a song ; And still with mystery I engage The aching senses of the throng. A dark-blue vest with stars of gold, My only diamond in my hair, An Indian scarf...
Page 7 - I give it them hot, with a glance Like the crack of a whip — oh, it stings ! And a still, fiery smile, and a dance That indicates naughtiest things. And I like it. It isn't the best : There are nurses, and nuns, and good wives; But life's pretty much of a jest, And you can't very well lead two lives. But sometimes wild eyes will grow tame, And a voice have a tone — ah, you men ! — And a beard please me — oh, there's my name ! Well ? I take a week's holiday then. IV. STANLEY TRAFFORD. THIS...
Page 7 - They were written for me; they're the rage ; They're the plainest, the wildest, the slyest ; For I find on the music-hall stage, That that kind of song goes the highest. So I give it them hot, with a glance Like the crack of a whip — oh, it stings ! And a still, fiery smile, and a dance That indicates naughtiest things.
Page 30 - Like a fresco limned in the night: I see a green crescent of trees; A slope of ripe wheat is its foil, The cream of the sap of the soil, Curdling, but sweet, in the breeze. The sun hastes, and evening longs For the moon to follow after ; And my thought has the tenderest scope: Tears that are happy as laughter, Sighs that are sweeter than songs, Memories dearer than hope.
Page 11 - I throw a kiss. Then, like a long wave rolling home, The music gathers speed and sound; I, dancing, am the music's foam, And wilder, fleeter, higher bound, And fling my feet above my head; The light grows; none aside may glance; Crimson and amber, green and red, In blinding baths of these I dance. And soft, and sweet, and calm, my face Looks pure as unsunned chastity, Even in the whirling triple pace: That is my conquering mystery.
Page 24 - ... corn Lusty labour reaps and owns ; "Fearless suns, and no sick star, No more maiden moons ashamed, Cities sweet as forests are, Sin unthought, unknown, unnamed ; "Babes that wail not in the night, Wretched heirs of poisoned lives ; No young souls that long for light, Festering in scholastic gyves; "Not a damsel made the tomb Of a thousand loves unchaste ; Woman mistress of her womb, Never bound to be embraced; "Man by hunger unsubdued, Conqueror of the primal curse, Master of his subtlest mood,...
Page 21 - In your body or in your mind? THE GLEEMAN THE gleeman sang in the market-town; The market-folk went up and down. His blue eyes waned when thronging thought Would not obey as visions ought; Then flashed and flung their radiance straight — Availing prayer — at heaven's gate; And thought and word chimed with the tune. His scarlet cloak and sandal shoon, His tunic with the silver fur, Of forest green and miniver, His golden brooch and carcanet, Was not the garb that gleemen get. So said the dames...
Page 2 - Here are the six I knew well. I. Mary-Jane MacPherson. He thinks I'ma governess still, But I'm sure that he'll pardon my choice; I make more, and rest when I'm ill, And it's only the sale of my voice. I doubt it is sinful to dream; The World's the true God-head, I fear; Its wealth, power, iniquity seem The mightiest Trinity here. And this on a leaf of its book, Which is life, and is ne'er out of date...
Page 12 - I chant the devil's paean, I fill the stage with rich infernal bustle. I spin, and whirl, and thunder on the board ; My heart is in my business, I'm encored ; I'm as easy as a sprite, For I study day and night, I dream, devise — I travail, by the lord ! " My nature's a perennial somersault," So you say, and so I think ; but whose the fault ? If I don't know good from evil, Is it wrong to be a devil ? You don't get lime-juice cordial out of malt. But I'm plump, and soft, and strong, and tall, and...

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