Oracles

II8 ANIMA LUNAE Drew back the veil of sleep ; But strange : the king turned idly, sought to press The bosom where love lately burnt supreme, And found no ivory deep. He turned and sought out life ; and nothing lived : Death, and nought died. The king’s brow fell. Sore grieved He rose, not knowing : and before his will Swan’s throat, dove’s eyes, moon’s breast, and woman’s mouth, And form desirable Of all the clustered love drew back : grew still “ O turn, my lover, turn thee to the South ! ” The girl’s warm song of the Siesta’s hour. Heedless of all that flower, Eager to feel the strong brown fingers close On the unshrinking rose And pluck it to his breast to perish there, With neither thought nor care Nor knowledge he went forth : none stayed, none dare Proffer a pavid prayer. There was a pavement bright with emerald Glittering on malachite Clear to the Sun : low battlements enwalled With gold the ground enthralled, Sheer to the sight Of sun and city : thither in his trance The king’s slow steps advance. There stood he, and with eyes unfolded far (Clouds shadowing a star