"True, little do we know of Why or Whence.

But is forsooth our Darkness evidence

There is no Light?—the worm may see no star

Tho' heaven with myriad multitudes be dense."

[Pg 6]

"But, all unasked, we're hither hurried Whence?

And, all unasked, we're Whither hurried hence?

O, many a cup of this forbidden Wine

Must drown the memory of that insolence."

"Yet can not—ever! For it is forbid

Still by that quenchless Soul within us hid,

Which cries, 'Feed—feed me not on Wine alone,

For to Immortal Banquets I am bid.'"

"Well oft I think that never blows so red

The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled:

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

Dropt in her lap from some once lovely Head."

"Then if, from the dull Clay thro' with Life's throes,

More beautiful spring Hyacinth and Rose,

Will the great Gardener for the uprooted soul

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