Ave Maria, Stella Maris Ah Paris Yet even in London, Brantome, Whitman, Vatsyayana. Even so can it be merely a matter of (quoting De Gourmont) mucous surfaces? O impossible virginity of ductless glands! The agony! Yet maybe they too are happy. For I have heard there @3is@1 an odour of sanctity and it is real -- like musty clothes -- but the odour of venery, goats and laurels -- is flung six feet through a room, and remaining, fires lovers to perpetuate it. Restraints! coyness -- blushes, trembling knees, fluttering eyelids, working throttle-mad hands -- how terrible your impotence! how pitiful! A bull in a slaughter-house, his knees in curdled blood -- weeps. First loves. Tragedies of incompetence -- misunderstandings -- tragedies of haste and fear. Second loves. Tragedies of satiety; clever and wanton aimlessness. Third loves. Bah! When the moon's full yellow, sordid, wrinkled -- we rise to the surface of our velleities -- Ascidians -- to play at passion yellow and wrinkled. Ave Maria Stella Maris. White Ewe of the Canting Crew | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE MARMOZET by HILAIRE BELLOC ETUDES DE PLUSIERS PAYSAGES DE L' AME: 1 by HAYDEN CARRUTH AMOUR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL |