Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/163

Rh IX

though my soul mix with the fatal ways

Of nature passioning unto her end,

And of her element I make my friend,

Till loftier heavens shall amend my days,

My lady mindeth not: so my own gaze

Lower than man's creation doth descend

The round of being, where myriads aye ascend

Through nature to the super-solar blaze.

And if she see the lily overblown

And all its pure gold scattered to the wind,

And many a lover in his wars o'erthrown,

She strives not nature's being to unbind;

Eternally to her still climb her own:

Spirit through nature is but more refined.