III

THE PEACE TO BE

Quell this consuming fever, quickly give Some drug of poppies white!—But Peace will come? O ashen savourless alternative, Quietude of the blind and deaf and dumb That all swift motions must alike assuage,—  When we are exiled from youth's golden hosts To pace the calm cold terraces of age, With unvexed senses, being but houseled ghosts, Wise, with the uncoloured wisdom of the souls With whom great passions have no more to do, Serene, since ours the dusty arles Death doles, Oblivions dim of all there is to rue!— Peace comes to hearts of whom proud Love has tired; Beyond all danger dwell the undesired.

 

 

 

 

IV

STATUES

The great Greek lovers of gold and ivory things, Austere and perfect things, albeit they wrought Girl-shapes with driven raiment, conquering wings, And smiling queens of Cnidos, turned and sought A more inviolate beauty that should keep Their secret dream. Their grave sweet geniuses Of love and death, of rapture or of sleep, Are delicately severed from all excess.— Ah! suppliant, honey-white, the languor cleaves About the dolorous weak body He, The Dark Eros, with staunchless spear-thrust grieves; Heavy the seal of that mortality. No wounds disgrace the haughty acolytes Of heavenly sorrows, of divine delights.

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