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Christopher Brennan - Interlude: The Window And The HearthChristopher Brennan - Interlude: The Window And The Hearth
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Twice now that lucid fiction of the pane dissolves, the sphere that winter`s crystal bane still-charm`d to glass the sad metempsychose and futile ages of the suffering rose what, in its halt, the weary mood might show. Earth stirs in me that stirs with roots below, and distant nerves shrink with the lilac mist of perfume blossom`d round the lure that, kist, is known hard burn o`erflaked and cruel sting. I would this old illusion of the spring might perish once with all her airs that fawn and traitor roses of the wooing dawn: for none hath known the magic dream of gold come sooth, since that first surge of light outroll`d heroic, broke the august and mother sleep and foam`d, and azure was the rearward deep; and Eden afloat among the virgin boughs fused, song-jewel sudden, and flesh was blithe with vows to tread, divine, under the naked air; nor knew, alas! self-doom`d thro` time to bear lewd summer`s dusty mock and roses` fall, and cynic spring, returning, virginal. Chimaera writhes beside the tragic flame of the old hearth: her starting jaws proclaim, a silent cry, the craven world`s attaint. Her vans that beat against a hard constraint leaps, as the coals jet in a moment-spasm: yet their taut ribs hurt not the serpent chasm of shade, that slips swift to its absent den, to settle, grimlier, at her throat again. And, starward were their prison-roof increas`d, no sun that bathes him for a dewy east would light her mail, above the tainted air a meteor-dazzling gem, but the red flare kindle disastrous on our burning eyes from where the sullen embers agonize, once the heart`s rose-flusht dream of living gold. Therefore her croup, thro` many a lapsing fold, is bound into the iron`s night, to check the frenzy that contorts her charging neck: her life is flitting with the fitful red splashing her flank as `twere her courage bled to curdle with the void, whose metal-cold shall seal her gone, a block no art shall mould. And now the shining tongues that sprang to lick the obscene blackness in are tarnisht thick: insidiously thro` each blank pane the dark invades from space, vast cemetery: one spark flies up, the lessen`d ghost of flame: her flight stiffens, and is a settled piece of night.
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