Oracles

I30 THE TRIADS OF DESPAIR Then I sink back upon the breast of mighty-flinging foam, Ride like a ghost upon the crest, the silver-rolling comb ; Float like a warrior to his rest, majestically home. But oh ! my soul, what seest thou, whose eyes are open wide ? What thoughts inspire me idling now, lone on the lonely tide ? Here in the beauty of the place, hope laughs and says me nay ; In nature’s bosom, in God’s face, I read Decay, Decay. Here in the splendour of the Law that built the eternal sphere, Beauty and majesty and awe, I fail of any cheer. Here, in caprice, in will divine, I see no perfect peace ; Here, in the Law’s impassive shrine, no hope is of release. All things escape me, all repine, all alter, ruin, cease. II But thou, O Lord, O Apollo, Must thou utterly change and pass ? Thy light be lost in the hollow ? Thy face as a maid’s in a glass Go out and be lost and be broken As the face of the maid is withdrawn, And thy people with sorrow unspoken Wait, wait for the dawn ? But thou, O Diana, our Lady, Shall it be as if never had been ?