Lx

"And then"--(pray you, permit remain This hand upon my arm!--your cheek dried, if you deign, Choosing my shoulder)--"then!"--(Stand up for, boldly state The objection in its length and breadth!) "You abdicate, With boast yet on your lip, soul's empire, and accept The rule of sense; the Man, from monarch's throne has stept-- Leapt, rather, at one bound, to base, and there lies, Brute. You talk of soul,--how soul, in search of soul to suit, Must needs review the sex, the army, rank and file Of womankind, report no face nor form so vile But that a certain worth, by certain signs, may thence Evolve itself and stand confessed--to soul--by sense. Sense? Oh, the loyal bee endeavors for the hive! Disinterested hunts the flower-field through, alive Not one mean moment, no,--suppose on flower he light,-- To his peculiar drop, petal-dew perquisite, Matter-of-course snatched snack: unless he taste, how try? This, light on tongue-tip laid, allows him pack his thigh, Transport all he counts prize, provision for the comb, Food for the future day,--a banquet, but at home! Soul? Ere you reach Fifine's, some flesh may be to pass! That bombéd brow, that eye, a kindling chrysopras, Beneath its stiff black lash, inquisitive how speeds Each functionary limb, how play of foot succeeds, And how you let escape or duly sympathize With gastro-knemian grace,--true, your soul tastes and tries, And trifles time with these, but, fear not, will arrive At essence in the core, bring honey home to hive, Brain-stock and heart-stuff both--to strike objectors dumb-- Since only soul affords the soul fit pabulum! Be frank for charity! Who is it you deceive-- Yourself or me or God, with all this make-believe?"