70 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
Only the quest !  if any quest there be ! 
What is my purpose ?  Could the Godhead guess ? 
 
So the long way seemed moving as I went, 
Flashing beneath me ;  and the firmament 
Moving with quicker robes that swept the air. 
Still Dian drew me to her bosom bare, 
And madness more than will was my content. 
I moved, and as I moved I was aware ! 
 
The plain is covered with a many dead. 
Glisten white bone and salt-encrusted head, 
Glazed eye imagined, of a crystal built. 
And see !  dark patches, as of murder spilt. 
Ugh !  “ So thy fellows of the quest are sped ! 
Thou shall be with them :  onward, if thou wilt ! ” 
 
So was the chilling whisper at my side, 
Or in my brain.  Then surged the maddening tide 
Of my intention.  Onward !  Let me run ! 
Thy steed, O Moon !  Thy chariot, O Sun ! 
Lend me fierce feet, winged sandals, wings as wide 
As thine, O East wind !  And the goal is won ! 
 
Was ever such a cruel solitude ? 
Up rears the pillar.  Quaintly shaped and hued, 
It focussed all the sky and all the plain 
To its own ugliness.  I looked again, 
And saw its magic in another mood. 
A shapeless truth took image in my brain.