The Winged Beetle

210 L’HEAUTONTIMOROUMENOS CALM as a headsman at the block I smite thee, not for anger’s sake, Even as Moses smote the rock ; And from thine eyelid I will make Flow forth the streams of suffering To water my Sahara years, My swollen passions, maddening Shall swim upon thy sea of tears, Like ships beyond the bar that bound, And in my heart that they enlarge With hope thy dear sobs shall resound, A drummer rattling out the “ Charge ! ” For am I not a discord-note In God’s great anthem—thanks to thee Black Irony with greedy throat That shaketh me, devoureth me Through my soft voice this harpy screams ! My blood, this viper-venom base ! I, the black mirror by whose gleams Megaera watches her own face.