IN DEDICATION

A l l saints revile her, and all sober men

Ruled by the G o d A p o l l o ' s golden mean—
In scorn of which I sailed to find her
In distant regions likeliest to hold her
W h o m I desired above all things to k n o w ,
Sister of the mirage and echo.

It was a virtue not to stay,

T o g o m y headstrong and heroic w a y
Seeking her out at the volcano's head,
A m o n g pack ice, or where the track had faded
B e y o n d the cavern of the seven sleepers:
W h o s e broad high brow was white as any leper's,
W h o s e eyes were blue, with rowan-berry lips,
With hair curled honey-coloured to white hips.

Green sap of Spring in the y o u n g w o o d a-stir

Will celebrate the Mountain Mother,
A n d every song-bird shout awhile for her;
But I am gifted, even in N o v e m b e r
R a w e s t of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly w o r n magnificence
I forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Careless of where the next bright bolt may fall.