Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/154

I need not: for I feel that what I am
Is something more than man, that conquers man.
What is it? I know not: a flame, a thought;
But cold, but calm, unalterable, pure,
As far above the fume of the base lust
That dulls and levels all men, as, perhaps,
Was that strange flame or thought that made Man first
And Woman then to bring the man to nought,
Which fate I, who indeed am not a god,
Who am not Hercules, nor Samson, no,
Nor Antony—which fate I yet will change.
Nay, passion, rather I will urge thee on;
For I shall be above thee all the time
A cold impartial watcher, hard to foil,
Attentive that thou gettest all thine own
Not tampered with—lest, in some little thing,
Thou art betrayed, or with a semblance served,
Yea, for a blind fool as thou ever wert.

—O take thy fill of looking on this snow
In which thy heart finds such delicious death;