Clouds Without Water

Look! Look! upon the tripod through the smoke Of slain things kindled, and fine frankincense. Look — deep beyond the phantoms these evoke Are sightless halls where spirit stifles sense. There do I open the old book of Fate Wherein They’ pictured my delight and me Flushed with the dawn of rapture laureate And leaping with the laughter of ecstacy. Mine eyes grow aged with that hieroglyph Of doom that I have sought : the fatal end. That which is written is written, even if Great Zeus himself— great Zeus! — were to befriend. Even in the spring of the first floral kiss : ‘’ No happy end the gods have given for this ”.