The Rebel

I WANT to live, to grasp
With arms outspread, and feel
The thrill, the passion of my time,
To know the dream of every clime :
The goodness, badness, joy or weal,
All throbbing in my clasp.

I want to feel, to see,
To meet, to do, to know,
To live as deeply as I can,
To know the best or worst of man,
To meet the storm, the heat, the snow—
—But you say"you love me."

You love me, how ? you come
To hoard me up and hide
Whatever I may have of bloom
Within a narrow little room,
While sweet the world outside
Sings on, and I sit dumb.

You sob you love me—What,
Must I desert my soul
Because you wish to kiss my lips
In guarded, careful little sips,
Measuring out your stingy dole
Of love ? I want a lot :

Much more than you can give
Or take. A year had seen
Us snapping, snarling, angry-eyed
Across a table three feet wide
And stellar space between
The places where we live.

You want a thing to cook,
To wash and scrub and smile,
To black your boots and brush your hat,
And kiss you good-bye on the mat,
Then darn your socks awhile,
Or con the butcher's book.

I must be I, not you,
That says the thing in brief.
I grew to this without your aid,
Can face the future unafraid,
Nor pine away with grief
Because I'm lonely. True

It is I love you, yet
I must be I, e'en tho' I fling
Your love away and call it knavery,
I cannot love if love be slavery.
I hear the free wind rush and sing.
Must I live in a net?

I want my life, you'd joy
To murder me with love.
You'd hide me in a room, your fist
Upon my breast, and now I'm kissed
Or cuffed, or thrown off like a glove.
. . . Well, take me then, poor boy.

No need to moan, I've said
The words that end the strife.
If bliss it is, then take your bliss ;
You want—What? just another kiss,
Then here, and here, and here. O life,
Till this hour I've been dead.

Insurrections [1909]