Chapter 24 TO THE UNKNOWN EROS.

What rumour'd heavens are these

Which not a poet sings,

O, Unknown Eros? What this breeze

Of sudden wings

Speeding at far returns of time from interstellar space

To fan my very face,

And gone as fleet,

Through delicatest ether feathering soft their solitary beat,

With ne'er a light plume dropp'd, nor any trace

To speak of