52 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
In our innermost ravines  
Inaccessible to man,  
That our perfect peace in Pan  
Hide from us the knowledge of  
This eclipse of joy and love ! 
 
ALEXANDER 
 
Is there nothing but distress  
In the mystic vision lurking ? 
 
IST NYMPH 
 
Ah !  but were thy loveliness  
With the God supremely working ! 
 
ALEXANDER 
 
Nymph, thy face is like a flower  
Fairer than the driven foam !  
Shining like an honeycomb  
Is thy body — and thy soul  
Shoots me to the gilded goal.  
I shall master yet the hour. 
 
SATYRS 
 
King of Kings, we bow before Thee ; 
As our Master we adore Thee.