. . .carcely yet to be reckoned sound, But a pulse quicker or slower, then I know My plea is granted; death prevails not yet. For bees have swarmed behind in a close place Pent up between this glass and the outer wall. The combs are founded, the queen rules her court, Bee-serjeants posted at the entrance chink Are sampling each returning honey-cargo With scrutinizing mouth and commentary, Slow approbation, quick dissatisfaction. Disquieting rhythm, that leads me home at last From labyrinthine wandering. This new mood Of judgment orders me my present duty, To face again a problem strongly solved In life gone by, but now again proposed Out of due time for fresh deliberation. Did not my answer please the Master's ear? Yet, I'll stay obstinate. How went the question, A paltry question set on the elements Of love and the wronged lover's obligation? Kill or f. . . Read More