The Winged Beetle

42 THE GARDEN OF JANUS From under oak-leaves, so my strength was cast Into the mire ; For all I did was dream, and all I dreamt desire. XXIV More ; in this journey I had clean forgotten The quest, my lover. But the tomb Of all these thoughts, the rancid and the rotten Proved in the end to be my womb Wherein my Lord and lover had begotten A little child To drive me, laughing lion, into the wanton wild ! XXV This child hath not one hair upon his head, But he hath wings instead of ears. No eyes hath he, but all his light is shed Within him on the ordered spheres Of nature that he hideth ; and in stead Of mouth he hath One minute point of jet ; silence, the lightning path ! XXVI Also his nostrils are shut up ; for he Hath not the need of any breath ; Nor can the curtain of eternity Cover that head with life or death So all his body, a slim almond tree, Knoweth nor bough Nor branch nor twig nor bud, from never until now.