1901 · CLOSE READING
The Soul of Osiris
The Soul of Osiris (1901), PDF p. 58
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46
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS.
“ La cour d’appel de la volonté de l’homme—
C’est le ventre ! ”—Old proverb.
The worst of meals is that we have to meet.
They trick my purpose and evade my will,
Remind my conscience that I love her still,
And pull my spirit from its lofty seat.
For I withdraw myself : my stealthy feet
Seek half-ashamed the alembic which I fill
To the epic-mark—one sonnet to distil,
In this poor miracle—my love to cheat.
Dinner clangs cheerily from my lady’s gong.
A man must eat in intervals of song !
Swift feet run back to hide my hate of her.
And then—that hate flies truant, as my thought
Rests (surely it beseems the overwrought)
And I am left her slave and minister.
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