XXXVIII
CONFLICT
Why should a woman find her dream of love
Irised by the strange ecstasy of Art?
Is not Eros a terrible lord enough
That she must bear both Hunters of the heart,
The Golden Archer and the Scarlet too?
Then bitter anomalies annul her choir
Of puissant and subtle instincts, rended through
By gorgeous dualisms of vain-desire.
For Love outrages Art's clear disciplines,
And Art lures Love to guilt of cryptic treason:
The spirit of imagination pines,
Captive in webs of exquisite unreason.
Alas for this translated soul of hers,
The rose's, that must be the garlander's!
XXXIX
PREDECESSORS
Faëry of Sheba, idol moulded in
Onyx milk-white, moon-mailed and casqued with gems;
Ye gold-swathed queens of Egypt, Isis' kin,
With bright god-hawks and snakes for diadems;
Serene masque-music of Greek girls that bear
The sacred Veil to that Athenian feast;
Hypatia, casting from thine ivory chair
The gods' last challenge to the godless priest;
Fantastic fine Provençals wistfully
Hearkening Love, the mournful lute player;
Diamond ladies of that Italy
When Art and Wisdom Passion's angels were—
Ye give this grail (touch with no mad misprision!)
Of Beauty's rose-red miracled tradition.
XL
TRANSITION