32 
THE WIZARD WAY 
 
 
To attain a matter one may not utter 
Rather than sink in the greasy splutter 
Of Britons munching their bread and butter ;   
Ailing boys and coarse-grained girls 
Grown to sloppy women and brutal churls. 
So, I am off with staff in hand 
To the endless light of the nameless land. 
 
Darkness spreads its sombre streams, 
Blotting out the elfin dreams. 
I might haply be afraid, 
Were it not that the Feather-maid 
Leads me softly by the hand, 
Whispers me to understand. 
Now (when through the world of weeping 
Light at last starrily creeping 
Steals upon my babe-new sight, 
Light—O Light that is not light !) 
On my mouth the lips of her 
Like a stone on my sepulchre 
Seal my speech with ecstasy, 
Till a babe is born of me 
That is silent more than I ;   
For its inarticulate cry 
Hushes as its mouth is pressed 
To the pearl, her honey breast ;   
While its breath divinely ripples 
The rose-petals of her nipples, 
And the jetted milk he laps 
From the soft delicious paps,