LA TENTATION DE SAINT-ANTOINE
N mystic dolour wrapt, the ascetic turns
His vague untutored thought to love, and sees
Himself exalted at the amber knees
Of God the Father: his bowed forehead burns
With chastity’s white star: no spirit yearns
More keenly from the abyss; yet, God! are these
Subtle star-sparks of spirit chastity’s?
- These deep-set shiverings saint nor sage discerns ?
Laughter and love are over him, entice
His life to sweeter scent of sacrifice.
She knows God’s will, not he! Her ardour licks
Flowers from the dust. O fool! that, heavy of breath,
Dost rot in worship at the shrine of death!
O mystic rapture of the crucifix!
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