XVII

There was a time when in the teeth of fate

I flung the challenge of the spirit's right;

The child, the dreamer of that visioned night,

Woke, and was humbled unto man's estate.

A slave I am; on sun and moon I wait,

Who heed not that I live upon their light.

Me they despise, but are themselves so bright

They flood my heart with love, and quench my hate.

O subtle Beauty, sweet persuasive worth

That didst the love of being first inspire,

We do thee homage both in death and birth.

Thirsting for thee, we die in thy great dearth,

Or borrow breath of infinite desire

To chase thine image through the haunted earth.