Songs of the Spirit

BY THE CAM. TWILIGHT is over, and the noon of night Draws to its zenith. and beyond the stream Dance the wild witches that dispel my dream Of gardens naked in Diana’s sight. Foul censers, altars desecrated, blight The corpse-lit river, whose dank vapours teem Heavy and horrible, a deadly steam Of murder’s black intolerable might. The stagnant pools rejoice ; the human feast Revels at height ; the sacrament is come ; God wakes no lightning in the broken East ; His awful thunders listen and are dumb ; Earth gapes not for that sin ; the skies renew At break of day their vestiture of blue. 98