Tannhäuser

To watch the gentle foresters of spring Crush dainty violets in their dalliance, Laughing in chorus with the birds ; and then (Coming at harvest time upon my tracks) See these same lovers in the golden sheaves Under the sun. The same, the fuller fruit. Say you ? But somehow, nearer to the end. Lost the old sense of mystery, and lost That curious reverence in sacrilege With Wonder—the child's faculty ! Less joy, Less laughter, yes ! that symptom I approve ; Yet is that subtle fading-out of smiles Rather the coming of a dull despair. And not at all that keen despair, that sharp Maddening pain that should torment a man With deadliest delight, the self-same hour That he unveils the Isis of desire. These litde lovers strip their maidens bare, And find them—naked ! Poor and pitiful ! Look at our love instead ! I raised Thy veil, Nay, tore Thy vesture from Thee, and behold ! Then only did I see what mystery, What ninefold forest, shade impassible, Surrounds Thy heart, as with a core of light Shut in the mystery of a dead world. Thou formless sense of gloom and terror ! Thou Upas, new tree of life—by sinister 38