The Winged Beetle

79 ROSEMARY “ There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance ; Pray you, love, remember ! ”—Hamlet. AMID the grandeur of my melancholy Lackeyed by spectres of my sombre past, I sit and smile at all the shapes of folly That I evoke—save One, that looms at last Towering above these ten tremendous years. I see Him, sacred, single in the vast, A Man of Sorrows, grey with useless tears ; A Man of Glory, with His aureole Radiant gossamer, a mist of spears Storming the sky, His heart one crimson coal To burn all lesser gods, to gild the shame Of this my life’s long infamy, the soul (Abased for Him) in Him one flower of flame— Mine Aceldama one white lily-bloom Availing me above all wealth and fame