Poems by Themis

Night of Soul

No rosary threaded with flower and pearl

Revolves in my fingers of hunger and glut:

My heart is as black as a gipsy-girl

With her mouth tight shut.

The places of earth are as dark as a sin,

And dark, furrow-dark is the song of the sea;

My thought's swooning steps are beating within

A dead litany.

The freedom of winds stings the trees' repose,

Till leaf-life is blackened with poison and blight;

My lips are sick-pale with the oozing which flows

From the breast of the night.

Unholy, the hollowing, curving white hands,

Which, empty of gifts, never burn down and die;

Which put out the sacrifice-fire, lest brands

Remember their lie.

Page 52