THE RITE OF LUNA
But—God ! I was not content
With the blasphemous secret ofyears ;
The veil is hardly rent
While the eyes rain stones for tears
So I clung to the lips and laughed
As the storms of death abated,
The storms of the grievous graft
By the swing of her soul unsatedi
Wherefore reborn as I am
By a stream profane and foul,
In the reign of a Tortured Lamb,
In the realm ofa sexless Owl,
I am set apart from the rest
By meed ofthe mystic rune
That reads in peril and pest
The ambrosial moon—the moon !
For under the tawny star
That shines in the Bull above
I can rein the riotous car
Of galloping, galloping Love ;
And straight to the steady ray
Of the Lion-heart Lord I career,
Pointing my flaming way
With the spasm of night for a spear!
Ο moon! O secret sweet!
chalcedony clouds of caresses
About the flame of our feet,
The night of our terrible tresses
!
Is it a wonder, then,
If the people are mad with blindness,
And nothing is stranger to men
Than silence, and wisdom, and kindness?
Nay! let him fashion an arrow
Whose heart is sober and stout
!
Let him pierce his God to the marrow!
Let the soul of his God flow out!
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