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…ive me a master ! Not some learned priest Who by long toil and anguish has devised A train of mysteries, but some despised Young king of men, whose spirit is released From all the weariness, whose lips are prized By men not much— Ah ! let them only once grow warm, my lips to touch. 2 2
…gray fibers, all the dream is wrought A spider-tapestry ; the old blood-stain Spreads through the air Some hot contagious growth to slay men unaware. II. I have discovered God ! His ghastly way ; Of burning ploughshares for my naked feet Lies open to me—shall I find it sweet To give up sunlight for that mystic day That beams its torture whose red banners beat Their radiant fire Into my shrivelled head, to wither Love’s desire ? 1 2