I weary of your hesitating will;
This flicker of "should" and "should not" crazes me.
Rest from these vain debates of good and ill:
Let me your secret swift diviner be.
In the memorial blue dusk of sense,
Where, spirals of doves or wreaths of ravens, rise
Auguries sweet or dread, the blue dusk whence
The cresseted houses of the stars surprise
The heart with their mysterious horoscopes,
I know the issues ere great battles begin,
The ashen values of bright-burning hopes,
The ultimate hours of sacrifice or sin.
Do I obey the Wisdom? If I list,
I too, beloved, can play the casuist.