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436 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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When sunlight glows upon the flowers,
Or ripples down the dancing sea, Thou with thy troop of passionate powers
Beleaguerest, bewilderest me.
Within the breath of autumn woods,
Within the winter silences, Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,
O Master of impieties !
The ardor of red flame is thine,
And thine the steely soul of ice; Thou poisonest the fair design
Of Nature with unfair device.
Apples of ashes, golden bright; Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
0 banquet of a foul delight, Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete !
Thou art the whisper in the gloom, The hinting tone, the haunting laugh;
Thou art the adorner of my tomb, The minstrel of mine epitaph.
1 fight thee, in the Holy Name !
Yet what thou dost is what God saith. Tempter ! should I escape thy flame,
Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death —
The second Death, that never dies, That cannot die, when time is dead;
Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries, Eternally uncomforted. |
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