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- A BRONZE HEAD
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- HERE at right of the entrance this bronze head,
- Human, superhuman, a bird's round eye,
- Everything else withered and mummy-dead.
- What great tomb-haunter sweeps the distant sky
- (Something may linger there though all else die;)
- And finds there nothing to make its tetror less
- i{Hysterica passio} of its own emptiness?
-
- No dark tomb-haunter once; her form all full
- As though with magnanimity of light,
- Yet a most gentle woman; who can tell
- Which of her forms has shown her substance right?
- Or maybe substance can be composite,
- profound McTaggart thought so, and in a breath
- A mouthful held the extreme of life and death.
-
- But even at the starting-post, all sleek and new,
- I saw the wildness in her and I thought
- A vision of terror that it must live through
- Had shattered her soul. Propinquity had brought
- Imagiation to that pitch where it casts out
- All that is not itself: I had grown wild
- And wandered murmuring everywhere, "My child, my
- child! '
-
- Or else I thought her supernatural;
- As though a sterner eye looked through her eye
- On this foul world in its decline and fall;
- On gangling stocks grown great, great stocks run dry,
- Ancestral pearls all pitched into a sty,
- Heroic reverie mocked by clown and knave,
- And wondered what was left for massacre to save.
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