(And mine own image, had I noted well!)

Was that my point of turning?—I had thought

The stations of my course should rise unsought,

As altar-stone or ensigned citadel.

But lo! the path is missed, I must go back,

And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring

Which once I stained, which since may have grown black.

Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing

As here I turn, I'll thank God, hasten

ing,

That the same goal is still on the same track.

LXX. THE HILL SUMMIT

THIS feast-day of the sun, his altar there In the broad west has blazed for vespersong;

And I have loitered in the vale too long
And gaze now a belated worshipper.
Yet may I not forget that I was 'ware,
So journeying, of his face at intervals
Transfigured where the fringed horizon
falls,-

A fiery bush with coruscating hair.
And now that I have climbed and won
this height,

I must tread downward through the sloping shade

And travel the bewildered tracks till night.

Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed

And see the gold air and the silver fade And the last bird fly into the last light.

LXXI. THE CHOICE-I

EAT thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.

Surely the earth, that's wise being very old,

Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold

Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high,

Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.

We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd,

Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.

Now kiss, and think that there are really those,

My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase

Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!

Through many years they toil; then on a day

They die not.-for their life was death, -but cease;

And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.

LXXII. THE CHOICE-II

WATCH thou and fear; to-morrow thou shalt die.

Or art thou sure thou shalt have time for death?

Is not the day which God's word promiseth

To come

man knows not when? In yonder sky,

Now while we speak, the sun speeds forth: can I

Or thou assure him of his goal? God's breath

Even at this moment haply quickeneth The air to a flame; till spirits, always nigh

Though screened and hid, shall walk the daylight here.

And dost thou prate of all that man shall do?

Canst thou, who hast but plagues, presume to be

Glad in his gladness that comes after thee?

Will his strength slay thy worm in Hell? Go to:

Cover thy countenance, and watch, and fear.

By flying hair and fluttering hem,-the

beat

Following her daily of thy heart and feet,

How passionately and irretrievably,
In what fond flight, how many ways
and days!

LXXVIII. BODY'S BEAUTY
(Lilith)

OF Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of
Eve,)

That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,

And her enchanted hair was the first gold.

And still she sits, young while the earth is old,

And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,

Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where

Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent

And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?

Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at

THE lost days of my life until to-day, What were they, could I see them on the street

Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat

Sown once for focd but trodden into clay?

Or golden coins squandered and still to pay?

Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet?

Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat

The undying throats of Hell, athirst alway?

I do not see them here; but after death God knows I know the faces I shall see, Each one a murdered self, with low last breath.

"I am thyself,-what hast thou done to me?"

"And I-and I--thyself," (lo! each one saith,)

"And thou thyself to all eternity!"

LXXXIX. THE TREES OF THE GARDEN

YE who have passed Death's haggard hills; and ye

Whom trees that knew your sires shall cease to know

And still stand silent :-is it all a show,A wisp that laughs upon the wall?— decree

Of some inexorable supremacy

Which ever, as man strains his blind surmise

From depth to ominous depth, looks past his eyes,

Sphinx-faced with unabashed augury? Nay, rather question the Earth's self. Invoke

The storm-felled forest-trees moss-grown to-day

Whose roots are hillocks where the children play;

Or ask the silver sapling 'neath what yoke

Those stars, his spray-crown's clustering gems, shall wage

Their journey still when his boughs shrink with age.

XC. "RETRO ME, SATHANA!"

GET thee behind me. Even as, heavycurled,

Stooping against the wind, a charioteer Is snatched from out his chariot by the hair,

So shall Time be; and as the void car, hurled

Abroad by reinless steeds, even so the world:

Yea, even as chariot-dust upon the air, It shall be sought and not found anywhere.

Get thee behind me, Satan. Oft unfurled,

Thy perilous wings can beat and break like lath

Much mightiness of men to win thee praise.

Leave these weak feet to tread in narrow

ways.

Thou still, upon the broad vine-sheltered path,

Mayst wait the turning of the phials of wrath

For certain years, for certain months and days.

XCI. LOST ON BOTH SIDES

As when two men have loved a woman
well,
Each hating each, through Love's and
Death's deceit ;