Rosa Mundi

— 12 — O ! but shall hope arise in happiness ? That may not be. My love is like a golden grape ; the veins Peep through the ecstasy Of the essence of ivory and silk, Pearl, moonlight, mother-milk That is her skin ; Its swift caress Flits like an angel’s kiss in a dream ; remains The healing virtue ; from all sin, All ill, one touch sets free. My love is like a star — oh fool ! oh fool ! Is not thy back yet tender from the rod ? Is there no learning in the poet’s school ? Wilt thou achieve what were too hard for God ? I call Him to the battle ; ask of me When the hinds calve ? What of eternity When he built chaos ? Shall Leviathan Be drawn out with a hook ? Enough ; I see This I can answer — or Ernst Haeckel can ! Now, God Almighty, rede this mystery ! What of the love that is the heart of man ? Take stars and airs, and write it down ! Fill all the interstices of space With myriad verse — own Thy disgrace ! Diminish Thy renown ! Approve my riddle ! This Thou canst not do.