mb, and therein slept,
Until the world, like some round shield upraised,
Splintered the thrown spears of dawn. As he woke,
He found himself ensnared in some thick web,
Yet reached his knife, and slowly cut it through;
Then when he stood, a monstrous spider fled.

At this recital on the slanted shore,
Another joined us from the cottage near--
A vine-clad cottage, lit for love's abode.
A lily-croft, with trees, encinctured it;
Like Ahab in his house of ivory
Dining on sweets, the king bee here
Sipped in the snowy lily's palace hall;
And here were yellow lilies strewn about,
As though the place had been the banquet grove
Of Shishak, king of Egypt; for the flowers
Seemed like the cups of gold that Solomon
Wrought for the holy service of the Lord.

"This is my daughter," said the fisherman.
Her head and face were covered with a scarf,
But large dark eyes looked forth, and in their depths
I saw a soul all tenderness and truth.

(Often, in dreams, I thought it sweet to die,
And reft of this gross vision, see at last,
As the large soul, quit of the body can,
Another soul set free and purified.)

The modest maid a crimson jacket wore,
And to her knee the broidered skirt hung down;
While 'neath, the Turkish garment was confined
In plaits about the ankles; but her shoes
Revealed the naked insteps of her feet.
I bade her there adieu, upon the shore
Of the clear Bospore. As I wandered back,
I thought much of the spider that I sought;
But more of two dark eyes, that seemed two stars
Which shone down in my heart; while the far space
Behind them, pure, but unknown, was the soul.

I thought to test this maiden's charity;
And so, one friendly day, put on a robe
Tattered and soiled with use. As she went by,
I strode abruptly from behind a wall,
And faced her with a face disguised, and held
My hand out while I begged for some small alms.
She gave abundantly from her lean purse,
And with a look of tender pity, passed.
It matters little who it is that asks,
Or whether he deserves the alms or not;
That given with free heart, is given to God,
And not to him who takes.

Day after day,
Henceforth, I strode a coastward way, to meet
The dark-eyed daughter of the fisherman.
Beneath her roof she made my welcome sweet,
And yielded both her hands, and drew the scarf
That veiled the wondrous beauty of her face.
If painter, or if sculptor, in some dr