Aceldama

XI. As life burns strong, the spirit’s flames grows dull ; The ruddy-cheeked sea-breezes shame its spark ; Wan rainy winds of autumn on the dark Leafless and purple moors, that rage and lull With a damned soul’s despair, these leave their mark, Their brand of fire That burns the dross, that wings the heart to its desire. XII. No prostitution may be shunned by him Who would achieve this Heaven. No satyr-song, No maniac dance shall ply so fast the thong Of lust’s imagining perversely dim That no man’s spirit may keep pace, so strong Its pang must pierce ; Nor all the pains of hell may be one tithe as fierce. 1 7