No torches light the tragic night In which I grope, Friend have I none under the sun, Nor hope. Heedless I press past deeds that bless And deeds that damn. For I know this, that while Life is, I am. Beholding me, the Fateful Three Ironies chortle. Creeds are a sham. Gods die. I am Immortal. The pristine cell wherein I dwell Outlasts the stars, Renewing life ’spite cosmic strife And scars. Through pain and fear I persevere Upreared from sod And primal slime, to challenge Time And God. THE PLAINT OF EVE “Man’s mate was I in Paradise, Since of the fruit we twain did eat, Through the slow toiling days his slave. Because I asked for truth, God gave All the world’s anguish and the grave. But, being merciful and wise, Ha bade His angel bathe mine eyes With the salt dew of sorrow. Sweet Had been the dew of Paradise.” _Yet through the immemorial years, Has she not healed us with her tears?_ “Albeit upon my lips I wore A smile, my heart was ever sore. Because I heard the Serpent hiss, Therefore I suffered patiently. But now I pray for bread, and ye Gave me a stone or worse--a kiss.” _Shall not the stone rebound on us? Shall not the kiss prove venomous?_ “No expiation dearly won, Can turn the ancient loss to gain, The Son of Man was Mary’s Son... Have I not borne the child in pain? My sighs were mingled with His breaths! Yet, though I died a thousand deaths, A thousand times a thousandfold, With Him, my babe, upon the Cross, My bloody sweats are never told, And still the world’s gain is my loss.” _Has she not suffered, has not died, With every creature crucified?_ “The hallowed light of Mary’s eyes Within my bosom never dies. The learned Faust, for all his pride, Was saved by Gretchen--glorified-- To God, his master, thrice denied. Love’s smallest holy offices When have I shirked them, even these? From the grey dawn when time began To the Crimean battle-field. By every wounded soldier’s side With cool and soothing hands I kneeled.” _She is the good Samaritan Upon life’s every battle-field._ “The secret book of Beauty was Unlocked through me to Phidias. Petrarcha’s dream and Raphael’s, Rossetti’s blessèd damozels, And all men’s visions live in me. The shadow queens of Maeterlinck, Clothed with my soft flesh, cross the brink Of utter unreality. Rautendelein and Juliet, Who shall their wistful smile forget? The leader of my boyish band I rule in Neverneverland.” _Her’s is the sweetest voice in France, And hers the sob that like a lance Has pierced the heart of Italy._