Oracles

THE BLOOD-LOTUS 47 Which we indwell, a deathless three, changeless and changing, as the pyre Of earthly love becomes a fire to heat us through eternity. I have forgotten Christ at last ; he may look back, grown amorous, And call across the gulf to us, and signal kisses through the vast : We shall disdain, clasp faster yet, and mock his newer pangs, and call With stars and voices musical, jeers his touched heart shall not forget. I would have pitied him. This flower spits blood upon him ; so must I Cast ashes through the misty sky to mock his faded crown of power, And with our laughter’s nails refix his torn flesh faster to the wood, And with more cruel zest make good the shackles of the Crucifix. So be it ! In thy arms I rest, lulled into silence by the strain Of sweet love-whispers, while I drain damnation from thy tawny breast :