The Fickle LoverAuthor(s): Ernest WalshSource: Poetry, Vol. 19, No. 4 (Jan., 1922), p. 195Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20573406 .

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Ernest Walsh

I begged the god of love to strike me blind, And seal Love's image up within my brain, Queen of my thoughts the kingdom of my Mind!

But when I took Love's body to my breast, Her lips were bitter, and her face a jest.

THE FICKLE LOVER

I have made Life my mistress; built temples Of song to her in my heart; paraded Before her enemy, Death. And smiling, Have kissed Life before Death's envious eyes; Proud in my lust, gay in my strength, love-wise.

But often in my dreams I've wished to touch The cool sophisticated lips of Death.

COLLAPSE

As an old tree bent by ages of winds, So I am tired;

As an oak-leaf blown out upon the sea, I am lonely;

As a storm-conceived adventurous wave Divides before its thousand lonely deaths On alien shores, My life shall end.

Ernest alsh

['I95]

This content downloaded from 195.78.108.177 on Tue, 20 May 2014 00:50:35 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions