Clouds Without Water

II There is an alchemy to heal the hurt Done to our love by shame the dragon of ill With his allies the fear, that wars begirt With clouds, and that sad sceptic in the will That sneaks within our citadel, that steals The keys and opens stealthily the gates When we are sleeping, when the dawn conceals Its earliest glimmer and our blood abates Awhile its tide ! O mystic maiden o’ mine, Did I not warn you of the insulting foes? Blind worms that writhe for envy, pious swine~ That gnash their teeth to espy the gold and rose Out flaming like the dawn when kiss for kiss Passed and for ever sealed our bale and bliss. IT] Behold ! the elixir for the weeping wound ! Is it that wine that Avallaunius poured From the Red Cup when fair Titania swooned Before the wrath of her insulted lord? Is it the purple essence that distilled From Jesu’s side beneath the invoking spear? Or that pale vase that Proserpina filled From wells of her sad garden, cold and clear And something overbitter and oversweet ? Or in the rout of Dionysus did Some Bassarid prophesy in her holy heat On such a draught as I for you have hid In this the Graal of mine enchaunted shrine To pour for you, o mystic maiden o’ mine?