VIII
Even that taunt has left you smiling still,
And silent still—and that is ten times worse.
Where is my will, my adamantine will?
Curse God and die? I can nor die nor curse.
Ah, but I can. The agony extends—
I am wrapt up all in an equal hell.
There is a point at which emotion ends.
I am come through to peace, though pain yet swell
Its paean in my every vein and nerve.
Try me, o God, convulse me to the marrow!
I am its element; I shall not swerve.
I am Apollo too; I loose one arrow
Swift enough, straight enough to conquer you.
O Sphinx! Gaze on! I can be silent too.
And silent still—and that is ten times worse.
Where is my will, my adamantine will?
Curse God and die? I can nor die nor curse.
Ah, but I can. The agony extends—
I am wrapt up all in an equal hell.
There is a point at which emotion ends.
I am come through to peace, though pain yet swell
Its paean in my every vein and nerve.
Try me, o God, convulse me to the marrow!
I am its element; I shall not swerve.
I am Apollo too; I loose one arrow
Swift enough, straight enough to conquer you.
O Sphinx! Gaze on! I can be silent too.
✶✶✶✶✶
— 108 —
