ndly, blindly, wounded with the roses,
I bear my spice where Ecstasy reposes.

XXIV

ASPIRATIONS

Light of great swords, banners all blazoned gold,
Bright lists of danger where with trumpets pass
Riders like those for whom bride-bells are bold
To beautiful desperate conflict, Michaelmas
Of golden heroes, how my sad soul saith
Your praise! Nor does to you her love deny,
Solemn strange Cups that carry dreamy death
To quench those fevers when they flame too high.
But now the Victories have broken wings;
The spirit of Rapture from the day of deeds
Is banished, and must spend on sorcerous strings
Her heart that perishes of splendid needs.--
Saints, lovers, high crusaders, give me too
Some simple and impassioned thing to do.

XXV

THE ANAESTHETIC

Like a white moth caught heavily, heavily,
In the honeyed heart of some white drowsy flower,
I lay behind the leaves of apathy,
Where not the reddest pang has any power.
Then, like one drowning, I rose and lapsed again
On dim sweet tides of the great anodyne.
Why must they hale me back to drink the pain
That seethes in consciousness, an evil wine?
I love the closing trances, howsoever
Their seals be broken: they are wise and kind.
If death can give such fumes of poppy, never
Shall I revile him. Oh! uncertain mind!
Hast thou an equal pleasure in the proud
Flame-builded pillar, and the pillar of cloud?

XXVI

DIVINATION

I weary of your hesitating will;
This flicker of "should" and "should not" crazes me.
Rest from these vain debates of good and ill:
Let me your secret swift diviner be.
In the memorial blue dusk of sense,
Where, spirals of doves or wreaths of ravens, rise
Auguries sweet or dread, the blue dusk whence
The cresseted houses of the stars surprise
The heart with their mysterious horoscopes,
I know the issues ere great battles begin,
The ashen values of bright-burning hopes,
The ultimate hours of sacrifice or sin.
Do I obey the Wisdom? If I list,
I too, beloved, can play the casuist.

XXVII

SUB-CONSCIOUSNESS

Sometimes as Martha suddenly stood amazed
By Mary's mystic eyes, and sometimes as
That very dreamer Mary might have gazed
Upon the Daughter of Herodias,
The conscious Soul that other Soul discovers,
The strange idolator who still regrets
Golden Osiris, Tammuz lord of lovers,
Attis the sad white