There was the Door to which I found no Key; 125 And not a drop that from our Cups we throw There was the Veil through which I might For Earth to drink of, but may steal below not see: Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was and then no more of THEE and ME. XXXIII To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye There hidden-far beneath, and long ago. XL Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that As then the Tulip for her morning sup mourn In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; 130 Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn. XXXIV 155 Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks Then of the THEE IN ME who works be- To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, hind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine. When You and I behind the Veil are past, 185 Oh, but the long, long while the World To-MORROW, when You shall be You no shall last more? Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: 295 In Midnight by the Master of the Show; Drink! for you know not why you go, nor LXX The Ball no question makes of Ayes and The Vine had struck a fibre: which about But Here or There as strikes the Player And He that toss'd you down into the He knows about it all-HE knows-HE LXXI 280 The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. LXXII And that inverted Bowl they call the 285 Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help-for As impotently moves as you or I. LXXIII With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the And cannot answer-Oh, the sorry trade! Seed: 290 Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst Whereat some of the loquacious Lot- 345 make, I think a Sufi pipkin-waxing hot"All this of Pot and Potter-Tell me then, And ev❜n with Paradise devise the Snake: Is blacken'd-Man's forgiveness give- LXXXII As under cover of departing Day 325 I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay. LXXXIII Who is the Potter, pray, and who the LXXXVIII "Why," said another, "Some there are Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell 350 He's a Good Fellow, and 't will all be well." LXXXIX "Well," murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy, Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: small, But fill me with the old familiar Juice, 355 Methinks I might recover by and by." |