 | Orellana and Other Poems |  |
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XVII. “THE LAST INFIRMITY.”
The god!—or else a fierce consuming flame!Spare me, Apollo of the burning brow!
Spare me! It was a rash novitiate's vow
When to thy shrine with shameful haste I came
And vowed, alas! with an unworthy aim,
To be a priest of thine: forgive me now
And let me go, or take me where I bow
And purge me of that lust of earthly fame!
—Thus, like a weed that woos the summer sun
To wither in the fierceness of his glance,
The ignoble wish that I had told to none
And scarcely to myself, by sweet mischance,
Seeking to honour it, was clean undone,
Pierced by Apollo's keen detecting lance.
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