THE RED STAR. 
53 
Grant us leave — the midmost wood 
Calls us to its solitude.  
We to bowers of flower and fern ;  
Thou to suffer—and to learn ! 
 
They vanish, embracing the nymphs. 
 
ALEXANDER 
 
I am alone — 
— With Pan — 
With the cold stone.  
Nay !  with the riotous god that ran  
Through all, and conquered all,  
And became all, and now is all.  
— Oh matchless musical  
Seven-throated god, I hear thy stridency  
Like nereids playing on the wind-struck sea  
That heaves herself with sensuous swaying ! 
 
I have seen a wild girl woven in gold 
Stained with blue and scarlet — playing 
Before me — she transported me 
With the writhings of her painted hips 
And her belly jerking up to my lips, 
Into an azure abyss of sea,