Jephthah and Other Mysteries

140 MYSTERIES: The world of dreams and shadows, not impearled With solitary shaft of Truth. Too sweet, O children of the Night, Are your wide realms for our philosophers, Who must in hard gray balance-shackles bind The essence of all thought : No sorrier sexton in a grave inters The nobler children of a poet’s mind Of wine and gold well wrought. By the poor sense of touch they judge that this Or that is real or not. Have they divined This simplest spirit-bond, The joy of some bad woman’s deadly kiss ; The thought-flash that well tunes a lover’s mind Seas and gray gulfs beyond ? So that which is impalpable to touch, They judge by touch; the viewless they decide By sight ; their logic fails, Their jarring jargon jingles—even such An empty brazen pot—wise men deride The clouds that mimic whales. My world shall be my dreams. Religion there And duty may disturb me not at all ; Nor doubts, nor fear of death. I straddle on no haggard ghostly mare ; Yea, through my God, I have leapt o’er a wall ! (As poet David saith.)