The Soul of Osiris

THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY. 63 Thou mayst win the quest—the king, thy friend, Gives thee his sword to keep thee—Gereth, kneel ! “ I dub thee Earl ; arise ! ” And then there rings The queen’s voice : “ Shall my love not match the king’s ? Here, from my finger drawn, this gem of power Shall guard thee in some unimagined hour. It hath strange virtue over mortal things. I freely give it for thy stirrup’s dower. ” I left the presence. Now the buffeting wind Gladdens my face—I leave the court behind. Am I Stark mad ? My face grows grim and grave ; I see—O Mary Mother, speak and save ! I stare and stare until mine eyes are blind— There was no jewel in the ring she gave ! Oh ! my pure heart ! Adulterous love began So subtly to identify the man With its own perfumed thoughts. So steals the grape Into the furtive brain—a spirit shape Kisses my spirit as no woman can. I love her—yes ; and I have no escape. I never spoke, I never looked ! But she Saw through the curtains of the soul of me, And loved me also ! It is very well. I am well started on the road to Hell.