Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | October 16, 2009


by George Sylvester Viereck (1884 – 1962).

Life (1912)

Thou art the quick pulsation of the wine,
The laugher and the fever and the doom,
Skull crowned with roses, malady divine,
Dweller alike in cradle and in tomb!
Thine is the clangour of the ceaseless strife,
The agony of being, and the lust;
But Death thy bridegroom turns thy heart, O Life,
Whence thou hast risen, to the primal dust.
As one that loves a wanton knowing well
That she is false, I yield me to thy spell.
But when my cup is foaming to the brim,
Yea, when I dream that I have clasped the prize,
I see the scythe, and mark the face of him
That is thy lover, leering from thine eyes.


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