Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/128

"I tell thee, in their wilderness shall be
No herbs enough for food for them and thee,
  No rock to give thee drink;
I tell thee, all their heavens are a cheat,
Or but a mirage to betray thy feet,
And draw thee quicker to some grave's dread brink
  Where thou shalt fall and sink.

"Turn rather unto me, and hear my voice
Against these desert howlings, and rejoice:
  Now surely do I crave
To treble this my beauty, and embalm
My words with deathless thrill, singing the psalm
Of pleasure to thee, King,—so I may save
  Thy fair days from this grave.

"Yea, now of all my beauty will I strive
With these mad prophesiers till I drive
  Their ravings from thine ear:
Against their rudeness I will set my grace,
My softness, and the magic of my face;
And spite of all their curses thou shalt hear
  And let my voice draw near: