Man is the hunter; women are the game; those sleek and shining creatures of the chase. We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; they love us for it, and we ride them down.

Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.