1910 · CLOSE READING
The World’s Tragedy
The World’s Tragedy (1910), PDF p. 116
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THE WHITE WIND.
63
My maiden lily-bloom.
For all my cheeks are flooded with desire
And shame, and black foul fire
That bubbles in my soul, and shoots its terror
Out of these sloe-black eyes
Into the lake’s unfathomable mirror,
That, laughing back upon me laughing, lies.
I will creep in — afar
From the frenzy of yon nameless star.
But who art thou
Descending in a cloud of cherubim ?
A moon-white sickle crowns that flashing brow ;
Thine head like the wise bird
Splendidly grim
That utters that unutterable word ;
Thy body like the bright sun in his strength ;
And all thy virgin length
Armed with the sword and balances,
Gold as the ultimate galaxies —
Thou art evanished.
Surely the Presence of the Lord wast thou
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