Pine, Rose and Fleur de Lis

by Susie Frances Harrison

 

SONNETS: TO THE GOD OPPORTUNITY

 
  I.  

Strange, that no idol hath been roughly wrought,
Or fairly carven, bearing on its base
A name so potent! Strange, no ancient race,
Workers in whitest Parian, ever sought
To reproduce thy beauty, slyly fraught
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With vast suggestion! Strange, thou could’st not brace
The dull Assyrian, did’st not tempt from chase,
Trophy and battle, the soris of literal thought!

We who are tired of gods must yet to thee
Render allegiance. Chance and Love are blind,
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And Cause is soulless, Art is deaf and vain,
All unayailing looms the God of Pain.
Disclaiming these, we choose with prescient mind,
The unknown God of Opportunity.
  II.  

Tired of all other gods are we, and fain
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To serve thee for a season, seem’st to nod,
A sleek slim shape, half demon, half a god,
Thy sex unguessed at, eyes that hold a grain
Of maniac cunning, piercing through the sane
Strong gaze of Deity, around a rod
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Thy snaky fingers clasped, while near thee plod
The petty things who follow in thy train.

These are Ambition, Circumstance, and Will.
For gods they once were taken by some rule
Forgotten, now with pallid purpose hurled
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Down from unstable thrones. Supreme and still,
Thou reign’st, thy rod the lever of the world,
Fortune, thy favourite; Failure, thy poor fool!