The Soul of Osiris

48 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. There is a shallop—how the breakers gallop, Grinding to dust the unresisting shore, A moon-mad thought to wander in the shallop ! Act—think no more ! Pale as a ghost I leave the sounding coast, The waters white with moonrise. I embark, Float on to the horizon as a ghost, Confront the dark. The cadent curve of Dian seems to swerve, Eluding helmcraft : let me drift away Where sea and sky unite their clamorous curve In praise of Day. Is it an edge ? Some spray-bechiselled ledge ? Some sentry platform to an under sky ? Let me drift onward to the azure edge— I can but die ! The moon hath seen ! An arrow cold and keen Brings some cold being from the water chill, Rises between me and the world—unseen, Most terrible. Dawns that unheard-of terror ! Never a word of The spells that chain ill spirits I remember. And oh ! my soul ! What hands of ice unheard-of Disturb, dismember !