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III. The Shadow Of Lilith

The tuberose thickens the air: a swoon
lies close on open'd calyx and slipt sheath
thro' all the garden bosom-bound beneath
dense night that hangs, her own perturbing moon:
no star: and heaven and earth, seeking their boon,
meet in this troubled blood whereunder seethe
cravings of darkling bliss whose fumes enwreathe
some rose of rare-reveal'd delight: oh, soon! —
Ay, surely near — the hour consents to bless! —
and nearer yet, all ways of night converge
in that delicious dark between her breasts
whom night and bloom and wayward blood confess,
where all the world's desire is wild to merge
its multitude of single suffering nests.

Cloth'd now with dark alone, O rose and balm,
whence unto world-sear'd youth is healing boon,
what lures the tense dark round thy pulsing calm?
Or does that flood-tide of luxurious noon,
richly distill'd for thy sweet nutriment,
now traitor, hearken to some secret moon.
Eve's wifely guise, her dower that Eden lent,
now limbeck where the enamour'd alchemist
invokes the rarer rose, phantom descent;
thy dewy essence where the suns persist
is alter'd by occult yet natural rite:
among thy leaves it was the night we kiss'd.
Rare ooze of odour drowns our faint delight,
some spilth of love that languishes unshared,
a rose that bleeds unseen, the heart of night;
whose sweetness holds us, wondering, ensnared:
for cunning she, the outcast, to entice
to wake with her, remembering how she fared
in times before our time, when Paradise
shone once, the dew-gem in her heart, and base
betrayal gave her to the malefice
that all thro' time afflicts her lonely face,
and all the mournful widowhood of night
closed round her, and the wilderness of space:
O bleeding rose, alone! O heart of night!

This is of Lilith, by her Hebrew name
Lady of Night: she, in the delicate frame
that was of woman after, did unite
herself with Adam in unblest delight;
who, uncapacious of that dreadful love,
begat on her not majesty, as Jove,
but the worm-brood of terrors unconfest
that chose henceforth, as their avoided nest,
the mire-fed writhen thicket of the mind.
She, monsterward from that embrace declined,
could change her to Chimera and inspire
doubt of his garden-state, exciting higher
the arrowy impulse to dim descried
o'erhuman bliss, as after, on the wide
way of his travail, with enticing strain
and hint of nameless things reveal'd, a bane
haunted, the fabled siren, and was seen
later as Lamia and Melusine,
and whatsoe'er of serpent-wives is feign'd,
or malice of the vampire-witch that drain'd
fresh blood of fresh-born babes, a wicked blast:
faces of fear, beheld along the past
and in the folk's scant fireside lore misread,
of her that is the august and only dread,
close-dwelling, in the house of birth and death,
and closer, in the secrets of our breath -
or love occult, whose smile eludes our sight
in her flung hair that is the starry night

poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Related quotes

The Guardian and BloodRose

BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.

The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.

Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.

My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.

A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.

You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.

Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.

I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.

As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.

A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.

Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.

poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
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Renunciation

ROSE of the desert of my heart,
Moon of the night that is my soul,
Thou can'st not know how sweet thou art,
Nor what wild tides thy beams control.

For all thy heart a garden is,
Thy soul is like a dawn of May.
And garden and dawn might both be his,
Who from them both must turn away.

Oh, garden of the Spring's delight!
Oh, dewy dawn of perfect noon!
I will not pluck thy roses white
Or warm thy May-time into June.

I can but bless thee, moon and rose,
And journey far and very far
To where the night no moonbeam shows,
To where no happy roses are!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Nocturn

I walk, I only,
Not I only wake;
Nothing is, this sweet night,
But doth couch and wake
For its love's sake;
Everything, this sweet night,
Couches with its mate.
For whom but for the stealthy-visitant sun
Is the naked moon
Tremulous and elate?
The heaven hath the earth
Its own and all apart;
The hush-ed pool holdeth
A star to its heart.
You may think the rose sleepeth,
But though she folded is,
The wind doubts her sleeping;
Not all the rose sleeps,
But smiles in her sweet heart
For crafty bliss.
The wind lieth with the rose,
And when he stirs, she stirs in her repose:
The wind hath the rose,
And the rose her kiss.
Ah, mouth of me!
Is it then that this
Seemeth much to thee?--
I wander only.
The rose hath her kiss.

poem by Francis Thompson
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Dark Rose

a dark rose growing from the dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on this dark night
spreading its petals of darkness
for a dreamer dark dream

on a fine morning
when the darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
to embrace it's light
with so much light
turning into something
of a reddish blood
coloured rose
something glowing like
the blood of pain
but still dark
like the one last night.

poem by Suelynn Walters
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White dawn, that tak'st the heaven with sweet surprise

White dawn, that tak'st the heaven with sweet surprise
of amorous artifice,
art thou the bearer of my perfect hour
divine, untrod,
from some forgotten window of Paradise
by mighty winds of God
blown down the world, before my haunted eyes
at length to flower?
Nay, virgin dawn, yet art thou all too known,
too crowded light
to take my boundless hour of flaming peace:
thou common dayspring cease;
and be there only night, the only night,
more than all other lone:
be the sole secret world
one rose unfurl'd,
and nought disturb its blossom'd peace intense,
that fills the living deep beyond all dreams of sense
enmesh'd in errorous multiplicity:
— let be
nought but her coming there:
what else were fair?
It asks no golden web, no censer-fire
to tell the dense incarnate mystery
where one delight is wed with one desire.
No leaves bestrow
that passage to the rose of all fulfill'd delight;
no silver trumpets blow
majestic rite,
but silence that is sigh'd from faery lands,
or wraps the feet of Beauty where she treads
dim fields of fading stars,
be round our meeting heads,
and seeking hands:
draw near, ye heavens, and be our chamber-bars;
and thou, maternal heart of holy night,
close watch, what hush'd and sacramental tide
a soul goes forth wide-eyed,
to meet the archangel-sword of loneliest delight

poem by Christopher John Brennan
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The Dark Rose

a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams

on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing

but still dark
like the one last night.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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369.still Dark Like The One Last Night

a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams

but still dark
like the one last night.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Still Dark Like The One Last Night

a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams

but still dark
like the one last night.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Point Of View: II

In the wood of lost causes, the valley of tears,
Old hopes, like dead leaves, choke the difficult way;
Dark pinions fold dank round the soul, and it hears:
'It is night, it is night, it has never been day;
Thou hast dreamed of the day, of the rose of delight;
It was always dead leaves and the heart of the night.
Drink deep then, and rest, O thou foolish wayfarer,
For night, like a chalice, holds sleep in her hands.'

Then you drain the dark cup, and, half-drugged as you lie
In the arms of despair that is masked as delight,
You thrill to the rush of white wings, and you hear:
'It is day, it is day, it has never been night!
Thou hast dreamed of the night and the wood of lost leaves;
It was always noon, June, and red roses in sheaves,
Unlock the blind lids, and behold the light-bearer
Who holds, like a monstrance, the sun in his hands.'

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Dark Night

Night dark but your lies were darker

Night cruel but your love more crueler

Night all alone yet better than your absent minded with me

Night was the time i gave my whole to you

Night was the time you slapped my face

Night was the day you pushed me to the door.

Night was the time you abused me

Night was the time you slit my tongue

Night was the time the moon refuses to smile at us

Night was the time i lost you

Night was the time you left me all in the rain

Night was the time i cry you a river

Night under the tree you promise me your undying love

Night was the time you bid me goodbye

Night was the time you threw a stone into my glassy world.

poem by Blessing Ekpe
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I Bought You A Rose

the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night
it keeps me awake
through the night
the night in which
i think of you
because
i hold the rose
in my hand
through the night
the rose that i bought you
in the afternoon
the rose that you did not want
in the evening
the evening when i took you out
and you said
you did not want the rose
you wanted it to be over between us
you said it was no use
a rose was no use
a rose could not
bring us together
a rose could not
keep us together
a rose by any other name
is still just a rose
you said
i should keep my rose
you said
you said it when i offered you the rose
you said it again
when the evening was over
when we left each other
and so i took it home
the rose that i bought you
i thought of you
on my way home
with the rose
i thought of how it had been
between us
i thought of how it might have been
between us
i tried to forget
how it had been
between us
i tried to forget
how it might have been
between us
but the rose reminded me
how it was
between us
i took the rose with me
when i got into bed
when i tried to sleep
it had been deep red
but it seemed to me
now it was not so deep red
as it had been before
each time i woke
i looked at the rose
each time it seemed
not so deep red
as it had been before
each time it seemed
a little more faded
a little more dry
a little less red
a little less fresh
each time
its scent also
had been beautiful
like you were beautiful
its scent also seemed to me
a little more faded
a little less fresh
a little less beautiful
a little less able
to evoke you
a little less able
to keep you
to keep your memory
alive
alive in the night
even when i turned on the light
to look again
at the rose
to inhale again
the perfume of the rose
i saw it fading
i saw you fading
i saw your beauty fading
through the night
and i saw that you were right
about the rose
that a rose is just a rose
that a rose could not
bring us together
that a rose could not
keep us together
that a rose by any other name
is still just a rose
that you by any other name
are still just a rose
fading through the night
i cannot keep you
for i cannot keep you
from fading through the night
like this rose i bought you
like any rose
like anything i ever bought you

the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night

poem by Rory Hudson
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Less’er Love, And A Rose, In My Garden

I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times
…at times I have lesser love
And in less is more, very much more
…………….and there is this garden
..the garden, ours by the Grace of the Life Force, supreme God
..there is this Rose, and those Roses there… all chose a place to be
I, the Gardner choose the blooms from which Rose goes to the glass next my bed
I love this Rose, and less but similar those other
….they decide when to bloom
In sping late winter their souls weep, as I sheer, as I must
In spring and summer and early winter we rejoice as they bloom abundantly
…..every night one bloom from The Rose that’ad also chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen

I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times

…..only one Rose reads to me… I a lesser Gardener
Lesser, cause I’m only able t’love one Rose…..this Rose here
….those Roses there, some’r lessor Roses, some’r superior Roses, are my friends
Lesser in texture, shape and fiber and fragrance
Some superior in texture, or shape and or fiber and or fragrance
Friends equal in dimension with the Rose, but less in love than the Rose
…..every night one bloom from The Rose, that’s chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen

I, the gardener…. I prune, sheer…. at times
These other Roses who chose my garden
...so valuable in a muchness o’ Friendship,
…the quality their love much the same as that The Rose
Different the lesser my love, even though my caring equals that towards The Rose
We are blessed, those of us in the garden
…the magnificence of this garden in my life is the sumtotal of you all in my garden
I drink your fragrance intoxicated with love
I love The Rose, and my friends these other Roses in the garden Bless this love

poem by Johan Fourie
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Winter Sunset

Roses in the sky,
Roses in the sea
Bowers of scarlet sky-roses
Take my heart and me.

God was good to make,
This December weather,
All this sky a rose-garden,
Rose and fire together.

To the East are burning
Roses in a garden,
Roses in a rosy field,
Hesper for their warden.

Yonder to the West
Roses all afire,
Mirror now some rare splendid
Rose of their desire.

Pulsing deeper, deeper,
Waves of fire throb on,
Never were such red roses
At sunset or dawn.

Roses on the hills,
Roses in the hollow,
Roses on the wet hedges,
In the shining fallow.

West wind, blow and blow!
That has blown ajar
Gates of God's great rose-garden,
Where His Angels are,

Gathering up the rose-leaves
For a shower of roses
On the night the Lord Babe
His sweet eye uncloses.

All the sky is scarlet
Flaming on the azure.
O, there's fire in Heaven
My heart aches with pleasure.

Leagues of rose and scarlet,
Roses red as blood:
All the world's a rose-garden.
God is good, is good.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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In The Orchard

LEAVE go my hands, let me catch breath and see;
Let the dew-fall drench either side of me;
Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon
Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie.
Kissed upon either cheek and either eye,
I turn to thee as some green afternoon
Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Lie closer, lean your face upon my side,
Feel where the dew fell that has hardly dried,
Hear how the blood beats that went nigh to swoon;
The pleasure lives there when the sense has died;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

O my fair lord, I charge you leave me this:
Is it not sweeter than a foolish kiss?
Nay take it then, my flower, my first in June,
My rose, so like a tender mouth it is:
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire,
Dividing my delight and my desire,
The crescent life and love the plenilune,
Love me though dusk begin and dark retire;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Ah, my heart fails, my blood draws back; I know,
When life runs over, life is near to go;
And with the slain of love love’s ways are strewn,
And with their blood, if love will have it so;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Ah, do thy will now; slay me if thou wilt;
There is no building now the walls are built,
No quarrying now the corner-stone is hewn,
No drinking now the vine’s whole blood is spilt;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain;
Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain,
Break down thy vine ere yet grape-gatherers prune,
Slay me ere day can slay desire again;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea,
Take life and all, for I will die, I say;
Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?
For sweet night’s sake I will not live till day;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.
Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know
Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune;
Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it so.
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Past Tense

long, long time ago
in the past tense of my life
there was once a rosey rose
with a beauty sharper than a knife
spoiled by every dropp of rain
on her petals so reddish as blood
playful in such childish vain
though never she had to leave her bud

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

the wisdom it says by virtue
this rose shall live and live along
as long the sun is singing golden
and the rain is playing its own song
but in case the light becomes so dim
and the weather helps not the eye
standing shall not be that rose's stem
and the whole thing shall be just a lie

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

but for some reason I cannot find
my eyes closed and once open again
to find myself moveless in bound
without a feeling of the world of insane
but thank to the Lord of heavens in up
my head is beside a rosey rose in here
even though my heart is going to stop
my rose with me got me out of fear

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

sleepless nights and days
how long did I spend in there
my tears are going down alone
but so the rose stayed to me so near
and yet when people go alone
and to me never get back again
my rose is there bending down
swore that she'll never leave me again

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

by the sounds of the angels
the petals dropped on my cheek
and when my soul is roaming
doesn't know what I have to seek
comes again my rose from heaven
and to me gives a shining salute
I'm never lonely as she was saying
and my to keep faith in her so absolute

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

Thus, goes my story
of that rose's glory
and from that sand
shall I not get stand
but to say goodbye
O ye passer by
once in past tense of my life
I had a rose that was living by

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move...

poem by Taher Shemaly
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Raison D'Etre

O WEARY night, O weary day,
When heart's delight is far away!

What is the day? A frame of blue
The vacant-glaring sun grins through.
What is the night? A sable veil
Through which the moon peers tired and pale.

O weary day! O weary night!
How far away is heart's delight!

Love hung the sun in his high place
To give me light to see her face,
And love spread out the veil of night
To hide us two from all men's sight.

O kindly night, O pleasant day,
Your use is gone--why should ye stay?
My heart's delight is far away,
O weary night, O weary day.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)

Rose, Rose
Love you, without words.
When I touch your waist,
Close to your lips.

Rose, Rose
Kisses are what you send to me.
Endless mythical dream
Every kiss seems to be

Rose, rose
Aren’t you the waves of the red wine
Of the first night in a wedding?
In your soft heart
slipped the lovers’ laughs and tears.

Love you, Rose
Light vortex, pink whorls
full of a garden I wish to plant Roses
Even waking to be a sad nightmare
Still I will hold you.
O, Rose, my dear Rose

poem by Henrry Zhou
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A Red Rose

You have sent to me a red rose
Through this letter a flower
It is my heart not a rose
My dear darling, I am writing
To let you know

That your heart is more then worthy of me
There is so much love
Hidden in this letter
Like the countless numer of pearls
In the ocean

If I was nearby
You would have kissed me
Through your letter
You sent me a rose
It was your heart

Did I share my dreams
When I was falling asleep
Dreaming of you
I had so many
Having fun and laughing

While whispering to me
And holding me tight
It was so full of passion
I needed it and wanted it
Just your love for me

In my dreams you came
You do every night
There was loneliness
For the two of us
Now I woke up

The dream could not be mine
I will not let you be lonely
Baby don't worry
I am the happist
Girl in the world

I will bring music
Our love is growing stronger
Day by day
Never forget it, neither will I
I taught you to love

Like you did me baby
You sent me a rose
It is your heart
With this letter
Comes your love

Near my heart
I am satisfied
We both are waiting for our eyes to meet
We will both have peace

I have come into your heart
Now into your house as the moon
Lands in our compound
To you I am coming
It won't be long

I will let you know the day and hour
It will be such a night..........
Baby our night is almost here
How shall we meet
I will call you and let you know

To join you I will leave
Then we can meet
Tonight we will be together forever
To me you are looking forward
I will come to you now

In your arms I will be
A letter to you I wrote
Soon you will get it.
I have sent you a rose
Through this letter

It is my heart

poem by Angel Plant
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