LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC. 123
And lo! a miracle! Her carven hand
Is lifted, and the little space is spanned,
And I am plucked from out her maw, and set
Down on the pedestal, whose polished jet
Shone like a mirror out of hell—I stand
Free, where the blood of other men is wet.
So slowly, while the mob stood back, I went
Out of the city, with no life content,
And certain I should meet no death at least.
And, riding ever to the stubborn east, .
I came upon a shore whose ocean bent
_ In one long curve, where folk were making feast.
So with no heart to feast, I joined the mirth,
Mingled the dances that resound the earth,
And laughing looked in every face of guile,
And answered fans with quick and subtle smile ;
Ten thousand little loves were brought to birth,
Ten thousand loves that laughed a little while.
No; for one woman did not laugh, too wise,
But came so close, and looked within my eyes
So deeply that I saw not anything.
Only her eyes grew, as a purple ring
Shielding the sun, they grew, they uttered lies—
They fascinate and cleave to me and cling.
And in their uttermost profound I saw
The veil of Love’s unalterable law