The Soul of Osiris

THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 45 “ MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE.” N my distress I made complaint to Death : Thy shadow strides across the starry air ; Thou comest as a serpent unaware, Striking love’s heart and crushing out man’s breath : Thy destiny is even as God saith To mark the impotence of human prayer, Choke hope, sting all but Love ; and never care If man or flower or sparrow perisheth. Thee, I invoke thee, though no mercy move Thy heart ! No power is to thy hate assigned On love (sing, poets ! shrill, Pandean reeds !). But me, look on me, how my bosom bleeds— Invoke new power of cruelty ; be kind, And ask authority to quench my love ! I