The Winged Beetle

ROSA COELI 13 In silver spirit clad with gold of sense, But sending forth thy rays life-pearled As a bridegroom squandering his strength upon the bride —Thou art sufficient to redeem the world. XIII O ! is the secret of the starry deep Nothing but pain and pleasure, grief and joy ? Is God a wanton boy To play with us so bitter cheap By such a jewelled light ? Be thine the power, Rose of the Stars, in this thy tortured hour When the wee lips that clung to thee are cold, To give the world a light of other gold From that men hoard, from that the suns afford In their implacable cars As they roll on impassive ; bid thy Lord (O Rose, Rose of the Stars !) And slave make known thy beauty and thy passion In his imperfect fashion, So that thy wisdom and thy strength are sold In every mart of earth ; So that thine eyes enfold The universe in one great look of love Bring this, bring this to birth ! And neither hate below, nor hate above, Nor chance, nor force, nor cunning shall deprive Man of thy gift, a love alive With more than men to-day can understand.