Being Beauteous
Against the snow of Being a high-statured Beauty. Whistlings of death and
circles of secret music make the adored body, like a specter, rise,
expand, and quiver; wounds of black and scarlet burst in the superb
flesh. - Life's own colors darken, dance, and drift around the Vision in
the making. - Shudders rise and rumble, and the delerious savor of these
effects clashing with the deadly hissings and the hoarse music that the
world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty, - she recoils, she
rears up. Oh, our bones are clothed with an amorous new body.
x x x .
O the ashy faces, the crined escutcheon, the crystal arms! the cannon on which I am to fall in the melee of trees and of light air!
