XXVI

     Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,
     Has earth beneath his wings:  from reddened eve
     He views the rosy dawn.  In vain they weave
     The fatal web below while far he flies. 
     But when the arrow strikes him, there’s a change. 
     He moves but in the track of his spent pain,
     Whose red drops are the links of a harsh chain,
     Binding him to the ground, with narrow range. 
     A subtle serpent then has Love become. 
     I had the eagle in my bosom erst: 
     Henceforward with the serpent I am cursed. 
     I can interpret where the mouth is dumb. 
     Speak, and I see the side-lie of a truth. 
     Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed: 
     But be no coward:- you that made Love bleed,
     You must bear all the venom of his tooth!

     XXVII

     Distraction is the panacea, Sir! 
     I hear my oracle of Medicine say. 
     Doctor! that same specific yesterday
     I tried, and the result will not deter
     A second trial.  Is the devil’s line
     Of golden hair, or raven black, composed? 
     And does a cheek, like any sea-shell rosed,
     Or clear as widowed sky, seem most divine? 
     No matter, so I taste forgetfulness. 
     And if the devil snare me, body and mind,
     Here gratefully I score:- he seemed kind,
     When not a soul would comfort my distress! 
     O sweet new world, in which I rise new made! 
     O Lady, once I gave love:  now I take! 
     Lady, I must be flattered.  Shouldst thou wake
     The passion of a demon, be not afraid.

     XXVIII

     I must be flattered.  The imperious
     Desire speaks out.  Lady, I am content
     To play with you the game of Sentiment,
     And with you enter on paths perilous;
     But if across your beauty I throw light,
     To make it threefold, it must be all mine. 
     First secret; then avowed.  For I must shine
     Envied,—­I, lessened in my proper sight! 
     Be watchful of your beauty, Lady dear! 
     How much hangs on that lamp you cannot tell. 
     Most earnestly I pray you, tend it well: 
     And men shall see me as a burning sphere;
     And men shall mark you eyeing me, and groan
     To be the God of such a grand sunflower! 
     I feel the promptings of Satanic power,
     While you do homage unto me alone.

     XXIX

     Am I failing?  For no longer can I cast
     A glory round about this head of gold. 
     Glory she wears, but springing from the mould;
     Not like the consecration of the Past! 
     Is my soul beggared?  Something more than earth
     I cry for still:  I cannot be at peace
     In having Love upon a mortal lease. 
     I cannot take the woman at her worth! 
     Where is the ancient wealth wherewith I clothed