26 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
I crept like sleep toward the place 
 That held for me her evil head ; 
I bent like sin above her face 
 That dying she might kiss me dead. 
I whispered :  “ Jezebel.”  She turned, 
And her deep eyes with hatred burned. 
 
“ Ah !  prophet, come to mock at me 
 And gloat on mine exceeding pain ? ” 
“ Nay, but to give my soul to thee, 
 And have thee spit at me again ! ” 
She smiled—I know she smiled—she sighed, 
Bit my lips through, and drank, and died ! 
 
Her murders and her blasphemies, 
 Her whoredoms, God has paid at last ; 
Upon my bosom close she lies, 
 Her carnal spirit holds me fast. 
My blood, my infamy, my pain, 
Seal my subjection and her reign. 
 
My veins poured out her marriage cup, 
 For holy water her cruel tongue ; 
For blessing of white hands raised up, 
 These perfumed infamies unsung ; 
For God’s breath, her sharp tainted breath ; 
For marriage bed, the bed of death. 
 
The hounds that scavenge, fierce and lean, 
 Snarl in the moonlight ;  in the sky