Chapter IX

And the Dragonfly in splendor Cruises ever o'er the lake, Holding in his heart a secret Which in vain he seeks to break.

DEATHLESS.

I.

The coy soul of man, Moving through its time-span, Unheeding of wings, Tastes the death of all things-- Of the flower and weed And the faint-voiced reed.

II.

The fair seasons roll For you and for me. The inhabiting soul Of the flower and tree, With the day of each Born to be and to die,-- No eternity-speech, No eternity-cry That pierces above, Nor infinite thrill At the touch of Love, Or the voice of His will-- From His fingers begot,-- God-breathed it is not!

III.

'Twas a shy fair one,
Like a beam of light
From the clouded sun,
That rose to the sight
Of the eye of emotion
In the soul of the Greek,
And eternized the form;
And vision, devotion,
Ever fixt on the norm,--
Type of beauty of flower,
Of grove and of bower,
Deathless, unique!