Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/128

 "I tell thee, in their wilderness shall be No herbs enough for food for them and thee, No rock to give thee drink; I tell thee, all their heavens are a cheat, Or but a mirage to betray thy feet, And draw thee quicker to some grave's dread brink  Where thou shalt fall and sink.

"Turn rather unto me, and hear my voice Against these desert howlings, and rejoice: Now surely do I crave To treble this my beauty, and embalm My words with deathless thrill, singing the psalm Of pleasure to thee, King,—so I may save  Thy fair days from this grave.

"Yea, now of all my beauty will I strive With these mad prophesiers till I drive Their ravings from thine ear: Against their rudeness I will set my grace, My softness, and the magic of my face; And spite of all their curses thou shalt hear  And let my voice draw near: