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the Equinox - The Hermetic Library

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XII<br />

SIR PALAMEDE <strong>the</strong> Saracen<br />

Follows <strong>the</strong> Head to gloomy halls<br />

Of sterile hate, with icy walls.<br />

A woman clucking like a hen<br />

Answers his lordly bugle-calls.<br />

She rees him in ungainly rede<br />

Of ghosts and virgins, doves and wombs,<br />

Of roods and prophecies and tombs—<br />

Old pagan fables run to seed!<br />

Sir Palamede with fury fumes.<br />

So doth <strong>the</strong> Head that jabbers fast<br />

Against that woman's tangled tale.<br />

(God's patience at <strong>the</strong> end must fail!)<br />

Out sweeps <strong>the</strong> sword—<strong>the</strong> blade hath passed<br />

Through all her scraggy farthingale.<br />

“This chatter lends to Thought a zest”<br />

(Quod he), “but I am all for Act.<br />

Sit here, until your Talk hath cracked<br />

<strong>The</strong> addled egg in Nature's nest!”<br />

With that he fled <strong>the</strong> dismal tract.<br />

33

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