54  
WHY JESUS WEPT. 
Dark, idle, grim, 
Full of black joys and shadowy unspoken fears, 
Wherein I am master. 
There is no place for tears. 
Cold adamant disaster 
Is lord there, and I overlord. 
So flits-out, like a sword 
Flashed through a duellist’s live heart, 
My thought ; in all the abodes of sense, 
The shrines of love and art, 
The adytum of omnipotence, 
I am supreme, through thee, sweet Angela ! 
For all the beauties of the universe, 
The glories hidden in the flower’s cup, 
All, all that wakes the soul to worship, verse, 
Ripe verse, all wines, all dreams that the soft God lifts up : 
All these are eidola, 
Mere phantom will ’o the wisps, thy love the real ! 
There is no more ideal 
For me ; romance hath shot its bolt ; 
The badger Jesus skulketh in his holt, 
Whence let no dog dare draw him ; let him skulk ! 
All is an empty broken hulk 
Floating on waters of derision, 
Save for the sole true vision, 
Angela, star in chaos !  Breathe, breathe deep ! 
Dear heart of gold, beat slowly in soft sleep ! 
Her lover watches over Angela. 
Angela !  O thou wondrous woman,