Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY > ae 189 ‘*Resolve all question by a moonward tread. ‘ Follow the moon !” said. My thought had thanked him for the generous breath Wherewith he warned us: for delay were death. And now, too late! no moon is overhead— Some other meaning in the words he saith? Even so the king had Or, am I tricked in such a little snare? I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus hear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes : “Thou canst not see her—but my Queen shall rise.” Bowed head and heating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No: she was too wise. Her presence was too gracious to endure. ‘‘She did not bid me go and chain me to her,” I cried, comparing. her For One beyond all song 1—my poor heart turned ; Then, *tis no wonder. burned Mightier yet than ever. To renew her Venom from those pure eyes? And yet I yearned. Then, my spirit knew And my passion Still, I stepped onward. Credit me so far ! The harlot had my soul: my will, the star ! Thus I went onward, as a man goes blind, Into a torrent crowd of mine own kind ; Jostlers and hurried folk and mad they are, A million actions and a single mind. 1 The '‘ Higher Self.” ‘‘What is thy purpose, sweet my lord?” I pressed One stalwart.. ‘*Ah! the quest,” he cried, ‘* the quest.” God’s heart! the antics, as they toil and shove ! One grabs a coin, one life, another love. All shriek, ‘‘ The prize is mine!” as men possessed. . I was not fooled at anything thereof. Rather I hated them, and scorned for slaves; ‘*Fools! all your treasure is at last the grave’s !” Mine eyes had fixed them on the sphinx, the sky. ‘*Ts then this quest of immortality?” And echo answered from some unseen caves : Mortality ! I shrink, and wonder why. Strange I am nothing tainted with this fear Now, that had touched me first. For I am here Half-way I reckon to the field of salt, The pillar, and the bones—it was a fault Lam cured of! praise to God! What meets mine ear, That every nerve and bone of me cries halt? What is this cold that nips me at the throat? This shiver in my blood ? this icy note Of awe within my agonising brain? Neither of shame, nor love, nor fear, nor pain, Nor anything? Courage no again. Ifas love no antidote, buckler? Tlark! it comes Friend, hast thou heard the wailing of the damned ? Fricnd, hast thou listened when a murderer shammed Pale smiles amid his fellows as they spoke Low of his crime: his fear is like to choke | lis palsied throat. Tlow, if Hells gate were slammed This very hour upon thy womanfolk?