The World’s Tragedy

THE RED STAR. 53 Grant us leave — the midmost wood Calls us to its solitude. We to bowers of flower and fern ; Thou to suffer—and to learn ! They vanish, embracing the nymphs. ALEXANDER I am alone — — With Pan — With the cold stone. Nay ! with the riotous god that ran Through all, and conquered all, And became all, and now is all. — Oh matchless musical Seven-throated god, I hear thy stridency Like nereids playing on the wind-struck sea That heaves herself with sensuous swaying ! I have seen a wild girl woven in gold Stained with blue and scarlet — playing Before me — she transported me With the writhings of her painted hips And her belly jerking up to my lips, Into an azure abyss of sea,