XI
This is our truth, that only Nothing is,
And Nothing is an universe of Bliss;
That loves denote supernal ecstasies,
And saintship lurks in the colossal kiss.
Loves are the letters of the holy word
That contradicts the curse "Let Being be!"
Since all things, even one thing, are absurd;
And no thing is the utmost ecstasy.
Kisses induct the soft and solemn tune
That Israfel shall blow on Doomisday—
Your silky eyes are blue as that pale moon
(For ere it dies it sickens into grey)
That witches see, whose eager violence
Aborts the gods of cosmic permanence.
And Nothing is an universe of Bliss;
That loves denote supernal ecstasies,
And saintship lurks in the colossal kiss.
Loves are the letters of the holy word
That contradicts the curse "Let Being be!"
Since all things, even one thing, are absurd;
And no thing is the utmost ecstasy.
Kisses induct the soft and solemn tune
That Israfel shall blow on Doomisday—
Your silky eyes are blue as that pale moon
(For ere it dies it sickens into grey)
That witches see, whose eager violence
Aborts the gods of cosmic permanence.
— 93 —
