Behold, I stand above His head 
With feet made white with whitest fire, 
Above His forehead, that is red 
As blood with His Desire. 
 
I knew that Voice was more than God, 
And echo trembled for its trust : 
Sleep’s feet, like Death’s, with fire are shod, 
And Love is likest Lust. 
 
So I returned and sought her breast, 
Our Lady of ten thousand Pains ; 
I drank her kisses, and possessed 
Her pale maternal veins. 
 
I said :  Drain hard my sudden breath, 
Be cruel for the vampire thrust ! 
Let Sleep’s desire be sweet as Death, 
And Love be clean as Lust ! 
 
I died amid her kisses :  so 
This last time I would not forget— 
So I attained The Life ;  and know 
Her lips and God’s have met. 
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