Oracles

I74 THE HILLS No God in this silence existing, No heaven and no earth of Him skills, Save the blizzards unresting, whirling and twisting Adrift on the hills. So witless and aimless and formless I count the Creator to be ; Not strong as who rides on the stormless And tames the untamable sea. But motion and action distorted Are marks of the paths He hath trod. Hated or courted, aided or thwarted :— Lo, He is your God ! But mine in the silence abideth ; Her strength is the strength of rest ; Not on thunders or clouds She rideth But draweth me down to Her breast : No maker of men, but dissolving Their life from its burden of ills, Ever resolving the circle revolving To peace of the hills. And dark is Her breast and unlighted ; But a warm sweet scent is expressed, And a rose as of sunset excited In the strength of Her sunless breast. Her love is like pain, but enchanted : Her kiss is an opiate breath Amorously panted : her fervours last granted Are sorrow, and death.