XXIX

THE CONFESSION

I

I am initiate,—long disciplined In delicate austerities of art: The clear compulsions of the sovran mind Constrain the dreamy panics of my heart. Plato and Dante, Petrarch, Lancelot, Revealed me very Love, flame-clad, august. Also I strove to be as we are not, Loyal, and honourable, and even just. My webs of life in reveries were dyed As veils in vats of purple: so there stole Serene and sumptuous and mysterious pride Through the imperial vesture of my soul.— And lo! like any servile fool I crave The dark strange rapture of the stricken slave.

 

 

 

 

XXX

THE CONFESSION

II

I have a banner and a great duke's way, I have an High Adventure of my own. Yet would I rather squire a knightlier,—Nay! Be the least harper by his red-hung throne. I am not satisfied with any love Till I can say, "O stronger far than I!" Is it a shame to hide the aching of, A sacred mystery to justify? Through all our spiritual discontents Thrills the strange leaven of renunciation.— Ah! god unknown behind the Sacraments Unfailing of the earthly expiation, Lift up this amethyst-encumbered Vine, Crush from her pain some ransom-cup of Wine.

 

 

 

 

 Prev. P 17/33 next