The Winged Beetle

THE GARDEN OF JANUS 43 XXVII This thought I bred within my bowels, I am. I am in him, as he in me ; And like a satyr ravishing a lamb So either seems, or as the sea Swallows the whale that swallows it, the ram Beats its own head Upon the city walls, that fall as it falls dead. XXVIII Come, let me back unto the lilied lawn ! Pile me the roses and the thorns Upon this bed from which he hath withdrawn ! He may return. A million morns May follow that first dire dæmonic dawn When he did split My spirit with his lightnings and enveloped it ! XXIX So I am stretched out naked to the knife, My whole soul twitching with the stress Of the expected yet surprising strife, A martyrdom of blessedness. Though Death came, I could kiss him into life ; Though Life came, I Could kiss him into death, and yet nor live nor die ! XXX Yet I that am the babe, the sire, the dam, Am also none of these at all ;