THE GARDEN OF EROS. 
I7 
Where past the star points the pole 
Rest the unstirred axis of the soul. 
 
CHRYSIPPUS 
 
Hear then !  By Abrasax !  the bar 
Of the unshifting star 
Is broken — Io !  Asar ! 
My spirit is wrapt in the wind of light ; 
It is whirled away on the wings of night, 
Sable-plumed are the wonderful wings, 
But the silver of moonlight subtly springs 
Into the feathers that flash with the pace 
Of our flight to the violate bounds of space. 
Time is dropt like a stone from the stars : 
Space is a chaos of broken bars : 
Being is merged in a furious flood 
That rages and hisses and foams in the blood. 
See !  I am dead !  I am passed, I am passed 
Out of the sensible world at-last. 
I am not.  Yet I am, as I never was, 
A drop in the sphere of molten glass 
Whose radiance changes and shifts and drapes 
The infinite soul in finite shapes. 
There is light, there is life, there is love, there is sense