| Adam Prometheus |
| I |
| In olden books 'tis written, |
| That he that would discern |
| The secret'st truth of things |
| Lost paradise eterne. |
| He was the first that fed |
| On fruit that knowledge brings; |
| Exiled from joys, he fled |
| And flaming swords did burn |
| Behind his path, which led |
| To miseries. |
II |
| Great God, vouchsafe me truth: |
| For I am one that smitten |
| With the deep mystery of things, |
| In learned lore uncouth, |
| Out of pure wonder sings |
| In harmonies. |
| III |
| Great God, forfend the tooth |
| Of deep remorse, and stings |
| Of joys that I did spurn: |
| Oh, spare the gnawing ruth |
| Of memories' torturings, |
| Yea proudly did I turn |
| From earth to snatch at wings |
| To soar and ne'er return |
| To life's lees. |
|
| IV |
| Great God, I too am cursed; |
| A destiny from birth, |
| Of all dread fates the worst, |
| Drives me unrestful, flings |
| Me from my Eden bliss, |
| Over a barren earth, |
| To impious search for things |
| Whose heart is an abyss. |
| I too am one that clings. |
| In lust for a knowledge kiss, |
| Upon my knees. |
| V |
| Great God, I've given o'er |
| My paradise of ease, |
| Allowed my soul to soar |
| To mysteries high or deep |
| At the world's core; |
| Oh, quench its ardent thirst, |
| Its hunger, God, appease:— |
| Or if Thou dost ignore |
| The soul that Thou hast nursed, |
| Then smite me as I leap, |
| And let Thy rages roar |
| On me as in the first |
| That fell on sulphur seas. |
| Yea, down Hell's sliffy steep |
| Thy molten lightnings pour |
| Till darkness be immersed; |
| Yet know I will not creep |
| Though all Thy thunders burst |
| In penalties. |
My Psalm of Life |
| I cannot grow as men would have me grow, |
| By ordered plodding to a life complete; |
| Climbing the path with slow and heavy beat |
| Of tedious footsteps from the world below. |
| I cannot like a visible circle flow |
| Until by measured compass I can meet |
| The place I started from with weary feet. |
| That proudly point the obvious path they go. |
| Ah no,—mine be the instinct given to trust |
| That all will in the outcome fall aright. |
| Like a migrant swan still wandering since I must, |
| I'll fill a life's full cycle in my flight: |
| Though I soar into the clouds or sink to dust, |
| My orb will come around; I'll reach my height. |
The Vocal Memnon to the Sphynx |
| The sands of time drift round me, and within |
| There is the knell of passing and decay: |
| The sun-smit vastness of the world doth weigh |
| Upon my riddling soul like hidden sin, |
| And bids it speak. Thou desert art my kin! |
| I crumble to thee, waning day by day; |
| But I am cursed with questions that betray |
| The end of life before death's hours begin, |
| My eyes are staring, yet their sight is blind. |
| My ears are hollow, yet they hear no sound. |
| My knees are buried and my body sinks. |
| The stars weave fates that they themselves unwind, |
| Traversing the same cycles round and round; |
| While I sit gazing at the silent Sphynx. |
