THE SNARE

Loose me and let me go!

I am not yours.

I do not know

Your dark name ev'n, O Powers

That out of the deep rise

And wave your arms

To weave strange charms.

Though the snare of eyes

You weave for me,

As a pool lies

In wait for the moon when she

Out of the deep will rise;

And though you set

Like mist your net;

And though my feet you catch,

O dark, strange Powers,

You may not snatch

My soul, or call it yours.

Out of your snare I rise

And pass your charms,

Nor feel your harms.

You loose me and I go:

O see the arms

Spread for me! lo,

His lips break your charms.

From the deep did He rise

And round me set

His Love for net.