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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PIERROT CRUCIFIED, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: From what moon-meadow shall we cull
Last Line: Because I too am crucified.


FROM what moon-meadow shall we cull
The honey of Theocritus?
Earth holds but little cheer for us,
All tender blossoms dear to us
Life tramples like a maddened bull.
Therefore thy mouth is amorous
But of some strange red dream that was,
O infinitely beautiful,
And infinitely piteous!
What vague progenitors affirm
Through thee some perished Circe's art,
And plant the deadly cankerworm
In the white rose that is thy heart?
Bid to the banquets of my brain
By what ancestral prompter's cue
Hie hooded shapes of sin and pain,
With all their ghastly retinue?
What girl whose lips were sweet to hire,
Bruised with what kisses that destroy,
What frail, pale lad who played with fire
And made of love a barren toy,
What hoary grim voluptuary
Who hunted pleasure as his quarry,
Foredrained the cup of my desire,
And spilt unpoured thy wine of joy?
Was there a dim pre-natal hour
Ere spear-armed fancies sallied hence,
Like priests of Baal, to deflower
Thine unpolluted innocence?
What goddess mad with what strange ire
Fills stainless heart of maid or boy
With the love-weariness of Tyre
And all the secret lusts of Troy
That smoulder in life's dismal pyre?
Madonna nailed unto the tree
0f some perverse fatality
For sins of others long ago,
Thou art my tragic Columbine,
I am thy tearful Pierrot!
But being human, not divine,
There are two masters strong enough
To make us glad, and one is Love.
The other has a fetid breath...
Ah let him tarry! Choose not -- Death!
From my own Calvary I scanned
Thy sorrow. I am love. My hand
Holds the great chalice red with wine,
And my young soul is seared as thine!
The self-same sword has pierced my side,
With the same lusts my blood abounds,
And I must love thee for thy wounds
Because I too am crucified.






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