PHTHONOS

If, in high jealousy, God made me blind

And laughed to see me stumble in the night,

Driving his many-splintered arrows of light

Into that lost dominion of my mind;

Then, knowing me still unvext and unresigned,

Stole from my ears all homely sounds that might

Temper the darkness, saying, in heaven's despite,

I had not wholly left the world behind;

So, sunless, soundless, if, to make an end,

He smote the nerves that move, the nerves that feel:

Even then, O jealous one, I would not complain

If I were spared the wealth I cannot spend,

If I were left the treasure none can steal:

The lovely words that wander through my brain.