Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/109

Rh Emerging from the darkness; in his hand

A serpent wand, tipped with a pine-tree cone,

Proclaimed him Bacchanal; like bronze he shone,

The form and feature of an antique land,

Ionian Asia, rich in old decay.

"Other my gods," the Roamer said, "'t is true;

But not my heart. What place of woe is this?"

"Thy full brows show thee a creator born;

But here is discreation. Avaunt!" he cried;

"Fly the mad region! fly the woeful strand,

Where beauty dies a thousand deaths in vain!

For vain the death is of immortal things,

Though ceaseless is their dying in the world."

The Roamer marked the intellectual face,

Heavy with thought and passion. "Nay," he said,

"I pray thee to unfold this mystic death."

Quick was the answer, as from one in haste,

Touching the main of wisdom's wide discourse,

As if profound in nature's element:

"Formless is death; but life is infinite form,

And beauty is the charm upon it spread,

As on the flower of youth its golden bloom.

Instinctive passion for the beautiful

Is the soul's character; at sight inflamed

With swift desire itself itself endues

In the fair forms through which its nakedness