It thinks not, knows not, acts not, nor appeals,
But hangs, remembers : it abides and feels
As if God’s vulture clung to it amain,
And furies fixed with fiery darts and wheels
Their horror, thought-exceeding, manifold,
Vertiginous within me—and the cold
Of Styx splashed on me, making me immortal,
Invulnerable in its bitter mould;
Leaving its own ice, penetrating streams,
Grim streaks, and dismal drops, abysmal beams
Thrown from the gulphthorough the placeand portal,
Each drop o’erladen with a curse that steams
Unnatural in the coldness: let me be
Alone, inviolate of eternity!
Let all the winds of air leave me, nor fan:
Nor wash me all the waves of all the sea!
Let all the sun’s light and the moon’s be blind,
And all the stars be lampless to my mind,
' Until I see the destiny of man
And span the cruelty that lurks behind
Its beauty, and its glory, and its splendour !—
The girl-babe’s face looks up to the mother tender,
Looks for a kiss in dumb desire, and finds
Her jaws closed trap-like to expunge and end her!
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