38 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
Within thy secret grove  
Naked and armless, save  
For this seraphic glaive.  
How then ?  What other price  
May serve thy sacrifice ? 
 
 
Ah !  by the evil glint  
Of sun, portends an hint.  
Shall I the childless king,  
Chaste in thy praise, resign  
That which was never mine,  
The power of — spring ? 
 
 
Ay !  by the fierce glad gleam 
On thy dark lips, I see 
Thy sober ecstasy 
To watch the soft bright stream 
Bubble and curl, like passion-flowers alight 
On the seductive malachite, 
To take with greedy joy  
This — toy.  
The jewels all-precious of a man  
Waste death before thee — Pan !