66 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
My thought had thanked him for the generous breath 
Wherewith he warned us :  for delay were death. 
And now, too late !  no moon is overhead— 
Some other meaning in the words he saith ? 
 
Or, am I tricked in such a little snare ? 
I lifted up my eyes.  What soul stood there, 
Fronting my path ?  Tall, stately, delicate, 
A woman fairer than a pomegranate. 
A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, 
One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. 
 
She pointed to the East with flashing eyes : 
“ Thou canst not see her—but my Queen shall rise.” 
Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure 
I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. 
I could have loved her.  No :  she was too wise. 
Her presence was too gracious to endure. 
 
“ She did not bid me go and chain me to her,” 
I cried, comparing.  Then, my spirit knew her 
For One beyond all song—my poor heart turned : 
Then, ’tis no wonder.  And my passion burned 
Mightier yet than ever.  To renew her 
Venom from those pure eyes ?  And yet I yearned. 
 
Still, I stepped onward.  Credit me so far ! 
The harlot had my soul :  my will, the star ! 
Thus I went onward, as a man goes blind, 
Into a torrent crowd of mine own kind ;