86 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
My veins :  some deadlier asp or cockatrice 
Slimes in my senses :  I am half awake, 
Half automatic, as I move along 
Wrapped in a cloud of blackness deep as hell, 
Hearing afar some half-forgotten song 
As of disruption ;  yet strange glories dwell 
Above my head, as if a sword of light, 
Rayed of the very Dawn, would strike within 
The limitations of this deadly night 
That folds me for the sign of death and sin— 
O Light !  descend !  My feet move vaguely on 
In this amazing darkness, in the gloom 
That I can touch with trembling sense.  There shone 
Once, in my misty memory, in the womb 
Of some unformulated thought, the flame 
And smoke of mighty pillars ;  yet my mind 
Is clouded with the horror of this same 
Path of the wise men :  for my soul is blind 
Yet :  and the foemen I have never feared 
I could not see (if such should cross the way), 
And therefore I am strange :  my soul is seared 
With desolation of the blinding day 
I have come out from :  yes, that fearful light 
Was not the Sun :  my life has been the death, 
This death may be the life :  my spirit sight 
Knows that at last, at least.  My doubtful breath 
Is breathing in a nobler air ;  I know, 
I know it in my soul, despite of this, 
The clinging darkness of the Long Ago, 
Cruel as death, and closer than a kiss,