The Soul of Osiris

66 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. My thought had thanked him for the generous breath Wherewith he warned us : for delay were death. And now, too late ! no moon is overhead— Some other meaning in the words he saith ? Or, am I tricked in such a little snare ? I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path ? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes : “ Thou canst not see her—but my Queen shall rise.” Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No : she was too wise. Her presence was too gracious to endure. “ She did not bid me go and chain me to her,” I cried, comparing. Then, my spirit knew her For One beyond all song—my poor heart turned : Then, ’tis no wonder. And my passion burned Mightier yet than ever. To renew her Venom from those pure eyes ? And yet I yearned. Still, I stepped onward. Credit me so far ! The harlot had my soul : my will, the star ! Thus I went onward, as a man goes blind, Into a torrent crowd of mine own kind ;