The Inevitable

There is a sword, a fatal blade, Unthwarted, subtle as the air, And I could meet it unafraid If I might only meet it fair. Yet how I wonder why the Smith Who wrought that steel of subtle grain Should also be contented with So blunt and mean a thing as pain.

The stars and fire-flies dance in rings. The fire-flies set my heart alight, Like fingers, writing magic things In flame, upon the wall of night. There is high meaning in the skies-- (The stars and fire-flies--high and low--) And all the spangled world is wise With knowledge that I almost know.

To-morrow I will don my cloak Of opal-grey, and I will stand Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke Across the dazzle of the sand. To-morrow I will throw this blind Blind whiteness from my soul away, And pluck this blackness from my mind, And only leave the medium--grey.

To-morrow I will cry for gains Upon the blue and brazen sky. The precious venom in my veins To-morrow will be parched and dry. To-morrow it shall be my goal To throw myself away from me, To lose the outline of my soul Against the greyness of the sea.