10 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
“ THE TWO EMOTIONS.” 
 
 
OW barren is the Valley of Delight ! 
 Swift the gaunt hounds that nose the warm 
close trail 
Of all my love’s content ;  in vain I veil 
My secret of remorse ;  from their keen sight 
And scent my poor deception takes to flight. 
I borrow perfume from young loves waxed pale ; 
I borrow music from the nightingale. 
In vain :  she knows me, that I hate her quite. 
 
Not altogether :  in my patchwork brain 
Some rag of passion tears its woof asunder. 
Strange, that its own insatiable pain 
Should find an opiate in her eyes of wonder ! 
Yes, though I hate her well enough to kill, 
I know that then my soul would love her still. 
 
  H