THE SEVENTEENTH DAY 
 
“ Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant.” 
Tempest. 
 
Last night—but the boy shrieked in’s sleep—then, there 
I had ended all !  Having ingressed the track 
That leads from green or white-crowned hours to black, 
The pleasant portals of the scorpion snare, 
First gleaming toils of an enchantress’ hair 
That afterward shall change their fervours slack 
To strong gripe of a devil-fish :  go back ? 
The hand is put forth to the plough—beware ! 
 
I took my shrine down :  at the night we lay 
Four hours debating between fear and sin : 
Whether our love went deeper than the skin, 
Or lower than the lips :  love won the day. 
We nestled like young turtles that be twin 
Close till the morn-star chased the moon away. 
 
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