The Winged Beetle

35 THE GARDEN OF JANUS I THE cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above the West, brave hippodrome Whose gladiators shock and shun As the blue night devours them, crested comb Of sleep’s dead sea That eats the shores of life, rings round eternity ! II So, he is gone whose giant sword shed flame Into my bowels ; my blood’s bewitched ; My brain’s afloat with ecstasy of shame. That tearing pain is gone, enriched By his life-spasm ; but he being gone, the same Myself is gone Sucked by the dragon down below death’s horizon. III I woke from this. I lay upon the lawn ; They had thrown roses on the moss With all their thorns ; we came there at the dawn, My lord and I ; God sailed across