45 
 
 
 
 
 
THE TWO SECRETS 
 
SHE used to lie, superbly bare 
Wrapped in her harvest flame of hair, 
And shooting from her steel-grey eyes 
Inexorable destinies :   
Mute oracles—mysterious— 
A soul in a sarcophagus !   
For I, through all my life astrain, 
Through all the pulsing of my brain, 
Through all the wisdom I had won 
From this one and the other one 
Saw nothing.  Nothing.  Had I known 
And loved some Sphinx of steel or stone 
While countless chiliads rolled, may be 
I had not guessed her mystery. 
 
So there she lay, regarding me. 
And I ?—I gave the riddle up. 
I drank the wine, admired the cup ;   
As I suppose a wise man does 
Unless he be the Man of Uz 
To scrape with shards a sore that grows 
The more he irks it.  I suppose 
All men are fools who seek the truth 
At such a price as joy and youth.