THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY. 
73 
I draw toward.  Oh, suddenly I see 
The treason-pledge, the royal prostitute. 
 
One moment, and I should have passed beyond 
Linked unto Spirit by the fourfold bond. 
Not dead to earth, but living as divine, 
A priest, a king, an oracle, a shrine, 
A saviour !  Yet my misty spirit conned 
The secret murmur :  “ Gereth, I am thine ! ” 
 
I must have listened to the voice of hell. 
The earthly horror wove its serpent spell 
Against the Beauty of the World :  I heard 
Desolate voices cry the doleful word 
“ Unready ! ”  All the soul invisible 
Of that vast desert echoed, and concurred. 
 
The voices died in mystery away. 
I passed, confounded, lifeless as the clay, 
Somewhere I knew not.  Many a dismal league 
Of various terror wove me its intrigue, 
And many a demon daunted :  day by day 
Death dogged despair, and misery fatigue. 
 
Behold !  I came with haggard mien again 
Into the hall, and mingled with the train, 
A corpse amid the dancers.  Then the king 
Saw me, and knew me—and he knew the ring ! 
He did not ask me how I sped :  disdain 
Curled his old lips :  he said one bitter thing.