The Soul of Osiris

THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 13 The agony of extreme joy, And horror of the infinite blind Passions that sear us and destroy, Rebuilding for the deathless mind A deathless body, whose alloy Is gold and fire, whose passions find The tears of their caress a dew, Fiery, to make creation new. This agony and bloody sweat, This scarring torture of desire, Refine us, madden us, and set The feast of unbegotten fire Before our mouths, that mingle yet In this ; the mighty-moulded lyre Of many stars still strikes above Chords of the mastery of love. This subtle fire, this secret flame, Flashes between us as she goes Beyond the night, beyond the Name, Back to her unsubstantial snows ; Cold, glittering, intense, the same Now, yesterday, for aye ! she glows No woman of my mystic bed ; A star, far off, forgotten, dead. Only to me looks out for ever From her cold eyes a fire like death ; Only to me her breasts can never Lose the red brand that quickeneth ;