I saw the Christ, with fire shod, 
Walk through the holy place, 
And the lilies rosier where he trod, 
Blushed for a little space. 
 
I saw myself, and still I sang 
With lips in clearer tune, 
Like to the nightingale’s that rang 
Through all those nights of June ; 
Such nights when stars in slumber hang 
Beneath the quiet moon. 
 
Still, in those avenues of light, 
No maid, with golden zone, 
And lily garment that from sight 
Half hides the ivory throne, 
Lay in my arms the livelong night 
To call my soul her own. 
 
The Christ’s cold lips my lips did taste 
On Time’s disastrous tide, 
His bruiséd arms my soul embraced, 
My soul twice crucified ; 
 
95