II. FROM “PHANTASTES.”

I have a bitter Thought, a Snake

That used to sting my life to pain.

I strove to cast it far away,

But every night and every day

It crawled back to my heart again.

It was in vain to live or strive,

To think or sleep, to work or pray;

At last I bade this thine accursed

Gnaw at my heart, and do its worst,

And so I let it have its way.

Thus said I, “I shall never fall

Into a false and dreaming peace,

And then awake, with sudden start,

To feel it biting at my heart,

For now the pain can never cease.”

But I gained more; for I have found

That such a snake's envenomed charm

Must always, always find a part,

Deep in the centre of my heart,

Which it can never wound or harm.

It is coiled round my heart to-day.

It sleeps at times, this cruel snake,

And while it sleeps it never stings: -

Hush! let us talk of other things,

Lest it should hear me and awake.