The World’s Tragedy

THE GARDEN OF EROS. I7 Where past the star points the pole Rest the unstirred axis of the soul. CHRYSIPPUS Hear then ! By Abrasax ! the bar Of the unshifting star Is broken — Io ! Asar ! My spirit is wrapt in the wind of light ; It is whirled away on the wings of night, Sable-plumed are the wonderful wings, But the silver of moonlight subtly springs Into the feathers that flash with the pace Of our flight to the violate bounds of space. Time is dropt like a stone from the stars : Space is a chaos of broken bars : Being is merged in a furious flood That rages and hisses and foams in the blood. See ! I am dead ! I am passed, I am passed Out of the sensible world at-last. I am not. Yet I am, as I never was, A drop in the sphere of molten glass Whose radiance changes and shifts and drapes The infinite soul in finite shapes. There is light, there is life, there is love, there is sense