Like eyes that from heaven have looked upon hell.

The eyes of an angel whose depths show where, burning

And lost in the pit, toss the angels that fell.

"Ah," wailed he in tones full of agonized yearning,

Like the plaintive lament of a sickening dove

On a surf-beaten shore, whence it sees past returning

The wings of the wild flock fast fading above,

As they melt on the sky-line like foam-flakes in motion:

So sadly he wailed, "I am Love! I am Love!

"Behold me cast out as weed spurned of the ocean,

Half nude on the bare ground, and covered with scars

I perish of cold here;" and, choked with emotion,

[72]

Gave a sob: at the low sob a shower of stars

Broke shuddering from heaven, pale flaming, and fell

Where the mid-city roared as with rumours of wars.

"Be these God's tears?" I cried, as my tears 'gan to well.

"Ah, Love, I have sought thee in temples and towers,

In shrines where men pray, and in marts where they sell;

"In tapestried chambers made tropic with flowers,

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