WEARINESS
217
I rule o'er thee! My heart is moved, and I
Unto thy beauty deathlessness bestow,
That noble spirits on their knees sink low,
Humbly ecstatic as thou soar'st on high.
Demon or angel thou art unto me,—
This know: a lotus-flower or frenzy's fount,
Where I in thirst and potent yearning turn.
O thou, my ruler and my slave!—with thee
Unto the shrine of the ideal I mount,
That thou may'st live, my heart thereon I burn.
2. WEARINESS.
Ah, 'mid the fields
Of pallid green
Wields
Crystalline night her sheen.
An ocean white
Quivers in space.
Bright
Mists waft round my resting-place.
Misty chains
Softly entwine
Strains
Of silvery harps that fade and pine.
Life's imaged wreath
Is blurred in dream
'Neath
Nirvana’s dome with stainless gleam.
