Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/293

 Turn utterly to love of basest rate; For low they fall whose fall is from the sky.

Yea, who me shall secure But I, of height grown desperate, Surcease my wing, and my lost fate Be dashed from pure To broken writhings in the shameful slime: Lower than man, for I dreamed higher, Thrust down, by how much I aspire, And damned with drink of immortality? For such things be, Yea, and the lowest reach of reeky Hell Is but made possible By foreta'en breath of Heaven's austerest clime.

These tidings from the vast to bring Needeth not doctor nor divine, Too well, too well My flesh doth know the heart-perturbing thing; That dread theology alone Is mine, Most native and my own; And ever with victorious toil When I have made Of the delfic peaks dim escalade, My soul with anguish and recoil Doth like a city in an earthquake rock, As at my feet the abyss is cloven then, With deeper menace than for other men, Of my potential cousinship with mire; That all my conquered skies do grow a hollow mock, My fearful powers retire,