1910 · CLOSE READING
The World’s Tragedy
The World’s Tragedy (1910), PDF p. 108
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THE RED STAR.
55
Each in its emerald pavilion
Like the death-god’s majesty
Burning his ensanguine pain
In my blood, my heart, my brain.
Yea ! with the scent of myrrh
And musk, and oliban, and strange perfumes
Begotten in pre-natal glooms
When all was — what ? with infinite ambergris
The excellent kiss
Of Pan enshrouds me and invades.
See how the night-borne shades
Darken the grove !
There is no moon to-night
The foul red star blots out the stars.
So, Pan, thy love
That brooks not any light
Shall brand its shameful scars
Even on this flesh — this royal flesh shall serve
For the brute lust whose nerve
Shall eat up blindness in me, and discover
The mind of Pan, maker of all,
In all — his lover.
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