And peace—peace!
O Protean, pitiless, perilous, dread desire,
Cease, cease!
Blow not again
Your trumpet tyrannous, nor sound your lyre:
Once in their notes I heard a spirit choir;
Now only pain.
Whispers at my young soul, blood in the heart,
Limbs of the leaping goat—aye, these I had,
And spurned a myriad summits gained, to start