More Modern Love

My destiny is less secure than lustWhich claims but earth,Of less enduring worth,Than dreams.... The iron reaches with its rustInto my soul; the maggots of the clayStir with a hunger that is divinely justFor my allotted and inevitable decay.My kinship with the stars is, in the play,The tragedy of my return to dust.For you I love, and for me whom I dream,I rise out of the roots of my desire,Lay a gold canopy fringed with the sun’s fireOver our bodies whether they may seemClasped on a marriage-bed,Or lying together pale in the sword’s gleamCold and clean and naked and so dead.But surely I can never dare to deemThat for the flame there will not soon be lead.The gifts of any memorable nightAre insufficient. Time will put asideThe record of those hours; Death derideThe laughter caught in their swift-plucked delight.Life fades; they fade;The moon returns; we singly retrogradeTurn to discover what is gone from sight.More fortunate the way the rocks are made,Insensate, undesired; for us a sorrier plight.I order all the fictions of the past,Deductions from the facts, to fashion law,But analyzed, all things I ever saw,Will not maintain a symmetry to the last.No law will hold;And though I tear the soil, am overbold,Twisting and turning from the ultimate mould,I cannot ever catch to bind God fast.Beauty may come to me when I am old,Now I see pearls, and know not by whom cast.So I can give you only what may die,My destiny, my mansions in the sky,My longing for the Gods: I give you thingsThat only make me afraid that I am IAnd still no more,—innate reechoingsOf trumpetings for deeds a long-time done,Or is it that they are not yet begun?For answer of the sort a mortal bringsLust is a better mistress to have won.Not understanding this, I tell you whyMy heart sings thus;—Someday no more it sings.MAXWELL E. FOSTER.

My destiny is less secure than lust

Which claims but earth,

Of less enduring worth,

Than dreams.... The iron reaches with its rust

Into my soul; the maggots of the clay

Stir with a hunger that is divinely just

For my allotted and inevitable decay.

My kinship with the stars is, in the play,The tragedy of my return to dust.

My kinship with the stars is, in the play,

The tragedy of my return to dust.

For you I love, and for me whom I dream,I rise out of the roots of my desire,Lay a gold canopy fringed with the sun’s fireOver our bodies whether they may seemClasped on a marriage-bed,Or lying together pale in the sword’s gleamCold and clean and naked and so dead.

For you I love, and for me whom I dream,

I rise out of the roots of my desire,

Lay a gold canopy fringed with the sun’s fire

Over our bodies whether they may seem

Clasped on a marriage-bed,

Or lying together pale in the sword’s gleam

Cold and clean and naked and so dead.

But surely I can never dare to deemThat for the flame there will not soon be lead.

But surely I can never dare to deem

That for the flame there will not soon be lead.

The gifts of any memorable nightAre insufficient. Time will put asideThe record of those hours; Death derideThe laughter caught in their swift-plucked delight.Life fades; they fade;The moon returns; we singly retrogradeTurn to discover what is gone from sight.

The gifts of any memorable night

Are insufficient. Time will put aside

The record of those hours; Death deride

The laughter caught in their swift-plucked delight.

Life fades; they fade;

The moon returns; we singly retrograde

Turn to discover what is gone from sight.

More fortunate the way the rocks are made,Insensate, undesired; for us a sorrier plight.

More fortunate the way the rocks are made,

Insensate, undesired; for us a sorrier plight.

I order all the fictions of the past,Deductions from the facts, to fashion law,But analyzed, all things I ever saw,Will not maintain a symmetry to the last.No law will hold;And though I tear the soil, am overbold,Twisting and turning from the ultimate mould,I cannot ever catch to bind God fast.

I order all the fictions of the past,

Deductions from the facts, to fashion law,

But analyzed, all things I ever saw,

Will not maintain a symmetry to the last.

No law will hold;

And though I tear the soil, am overbold,

Twisting and turning from the ultimate mould,

I cannot ever catch to bind God fast.

Beauty may come to me when I am old,Now I see pearls, and know not by whom cast.

Beauty may come to me when I am old,

Now I see pearls, and know not by whom cast.

So I can give you only what may die,My destiny, my mansions in the sky,My longing for the Gods: I give you thingsThat only make me afraid that I am IAnd still no more,—innate reechoingsOf trumpetings for deeds a long-time done,Or is it that they are not yet begun?

So I can give you only what may die,

My destiny, my mansions in the sky,

My longing for the Gods: I give you things

That only make me afraid that I am I

And still no more,—innate reechoings

Of trumpetings for deeds a long-time done,

Or is it that they are not yet begun?

For answer of the sort a mortal bringsLust is a better mistress to have won.

For answer of the sort a mortal brings

Lust is a better mistress to have won.

Not understanding this, I tell you whyMy heart sings thus;—Someday no more it sings.

Not understanding this, I tell you why

My heart sings thus;—Someday no more it sings.

MAXWELL E. FOSTER.

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