THE SNARE

Loose me and let me go! I am not yours. I do not know Your dark name ev'n, O Powers That out of the deep rise And wave your arms To weave strange charms.

Though the snare of eyes You weave for me, As a pool lies In wait for the moon when she Out of the deep will rise; And though you set Like mist your net;

And though my feet you catch, O dark, strange Powers, You may not snatch My soul, or call it yours. Out of your snare I rise And pass your charms, Nor feel your harms.

You loose me and I go: O see the arms Spread for me! lo, His lips break your charms. From the deep did He rise And round me set His Love for net.