Poems of Renee Vivien translated for THE LADDER by Barbara Stephens

MOURNFUL BACCHANTE

The day never pierces more than sharp arrows,

The wood astonish'd with the beauty of the nights, And the murky hour when dence the Bacchantes 'Mid pressure of the languid rhymes.

Their tangled hair woeps the blood of the vines, Their light feet fickle as the swirl of winds, And the rose of their limbs, the pliancy of lines Are merged in the forest of smiles.

Most youthful of singer who calls the rale, Amorous throat heavy with si ghs,

Never the same, she is pale-

Her brow is bitter with the storm of the waves.

The wine, when sun prolongs its vintage

Never brings more than generous 10 ss;

She is drunken by hal ves, but her drinking f orlorn And the black foliage wreathes her pallid brow.

In all she's weary of the merry fal sehoods And the coming of cold and lengthened morns; Corrupted the flame and honeyed caresses,

She dreams, 'mid the roses of banquets.

This one smiles from the kisses forgotten, Sho'll fear not desire that's without pain; That one seeing and with melancholy

On evenings of pained profusion of flowers.