THE BRIDGE OF FIRE
VII
Between the pedestals of Night and Morning,
Between red Death and radiant Desire,
With clamour of delight and doubt and warning
The High Gods stand upon the Bridge of Fire.
O Soul, lay down thy pride, and cease adorning
Thy brows with laurel or with gold thy lyre!
The wheels of Time are turning, turning, turning;
The slow Stream waits for thee, the stagnant Mire.
The Dreamer and his Dream
Shall struggle in the Stream
Sunless and unredeemable for ever,
Since this the Gods command,
That he who leaves their land
Shall travel down to that relentless River.
"O Master of the World," I cry,
"Save me from fear of Death: I dare not die."
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