Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/144

 Man is a chimera's eremite, That lures him from the good kindness of days Which only ask his willingness.

There is a crazed shadow from no golden body That poisons at the core What smiles may stray: It mixes with all God-ancestralled essences, And twists the brain and heart. This shadow sits in the texture of Saul's being, Mauling your love and beauty with its lies: I hold a power like light to shrivel it— There, in your throat's hollow—that green jade.

[He mutters.] Lost—lost. The child has torn the scroll in it, And half is away. It cannot be spelt now.

God, restore me his love. Ah! Well!