“When the dawn was red,
We sought the man, we marked him; and he prayed,—­
Kneeling, he prayed in the valley, and he said—­”
“Nay,” quoth the serpent, “spare me, what devout
He fawning grovelled to the All-powerful;
But if of what shall hap he aught let fall,
Speak that.”  They answered, “He did pray as one
That looketh to outlive mankind,—­and more,
We are certified by all his scattered words,
That HE will take from men their length of days,
And cut them off like grass in its first flower: 
From henceforth this shall be.”

That when he heard,
The dragon made to the night his moan.

“And more,”
They said, “that He above would have men know
That He doth love them, whoso will repent,
To that man he is favorable, yea,
Will be his loving Lord.”

The dragon cried,
“The last is worse than all.  O, man, thy heart
Is stout against His wrath.  But will He love? 
I heard it rumored in the heavens of old,
(And doth He love?) Thou wilt not, canst not, stand
Against the love of God.  Dominion fails;
I see it float from me, that long have worn
Fetters of flesh to win it.  Love of God! 
I cry against thee; thou art worse than all.” 
They answered, “Be not moved, admired chief
And trusted of mankind”; and they went on,
And fed him with the prophecies that fell
From the Master-shipwright in his prayer.

But prone
He lay, for he was sick:  at every word
Prophetic cowering.  As a bruising blow,
It fell upon his head and daunted him,
Until they ended, saying, “Prince, behold,
Thy servants have revealed the whole.”

Thereon
He out of snaky lips did hiss forth thanks. 
Then said he, “Tartis and Deleisonon,
Receive your wages.”  So their fetters fell;
And they retiring, lauded him, and cried,
“King, reign forever.”  Then he mourned, “Amen.”

And he,—­being left alone,—­he said:  “A light! 
I see a light,—­a star among the trees,—­
An angel.”  And it drew toward the cave,
But with its sacred feet touched not the grass,
Nor lifted up the lids of its pure eyes,
But hung a span’s length from that ground pollute,
At the opening of the cave.

And when he looked,
The dragon cried, “Thou newly-fashioned thing,
Of name unknown, thy scorn becomes thee not. 
Doth not thy Master suffer what thine eyes
Thou countest all too clean to open on?”
But still it hovered, and the quietness
Of holy heaven was on the drooping lids;
And not as one that answereth, it let fall
The music from its mouth, but like to one
That doth not hear, or, hearing, doth not heed.