54 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
“ THE TWO WISDOMS.” 
 
 
OPHIE !  I loved her, tenderly at worst. 
 Yet in my passion’s highest ecstasy, 
 When life lost pleasure in desire to die 
And never taste again the deadly thirst 
For those caresses ;  even then a curst 
 Sick pang shot through me :  looking afar on high, 
 Beyond, I see £¿Æ¹± in the sky. 
The pretty bubble of Love’s pipe is burst ! 
 
Yea !  through the portals of the dusky dawn 
 I see the nameless Rose of Heaven unfold ! 
Yea !  through rent passion and desire withdrawn 
 Burns in the East the far ephemeral gold. 
O Wisdom !  Mother of my sorrow !  Rise ! 
And lift my love to thine immortal eyes ! 
 
  S