T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Haunted House
By George Sylvester Viereck (18841962)(From Nineveh and Other Poems, 1907) I LAY beside you … on your lips the while | |
Hovered, most strange … the mirage of a smile, | |
Such as a minstrel lover might have seen | |
Upon the visage of some antique queen— | |
Flickering like flame, half choked by wind and dust, | 5 |
Weary of all things saving song and lust. | |
How many days and years and lovers’ lies | |
Gave you your knowledge? You are very wise | |
And tired, yet insatiate to the last. | |
These things I thought, but said not; and there passed | 10 |
Before my vision in voluptuous quest, | |
The pageant of the lovers who possessed | |
Your soul and body even as I possess, | |
Who marked your passion in its nakedness | |
And all your love-sins when your love was new. | 15 |
They saw as I your quivering breast, and drew | |
Nearer to the consuming flame that burns | |
Deep to the marrow of my bone, and turns | |
My heart to love even as theirs who knew | |
From head to girdle each sweet curve of you, | 20 |
Each little way of loving. No caress, | |
But apes the part of former loves. Ah yes, | |
Even thus your hand toyed in the locks of him | |
Who came before me. Was he fair of limb | |
Or very dark? What matter, with such lures | 25 |
You snared the hearts of all your paramours! | |
To-night I feel the presence of the others, | |
Your lovers were they and are now my brothers, | |
And I have nothing that has not been theirs, | |
No single bloom the tree of passion bears. | 30 |
They have not plucked. Beloved, can it be? | |
Is there no gift that you reserve for me— | |
No loving kindness or no subtle sin, | |
No secret shrine that none has entered in, | |
Whither no mocking memories pursue | 35 |
Love’s wistful pilgrim? I am weary too, | |
With weariness of all your lovers, and when | |
I follow in the ways of other men, | |
I know each spot of your sweet body is | |
A cross, the tombstone of some perished kiss. | 40 |
My arms embrace you, and a silent host | |
Of shadows rises—at each side a ghost! | |
With all its beauty and its faultless grace | |
Your body, dearest, is a haunted place. | |
When I did yield to passion’s swift demand, | 45 |
One of your lovers touched me with his hand. | |
And in the pang of amorous delight | |
I hear strange voices calling through the night. | |