103 
 
 
 
 
 
THE SORCERESS 
 
GIVE me the good sun streaming through 
 Glimmering glades of yew, 
And the cool grass, and one chaste shrine 
 That pious hands have builded ;   
 And, oiled and scented, curled and gilded, 
A virgin, swimming like new wine 
 In my grey old soul, that I may give 
 His life to Pan, and live !   
 
I have seen Love, and known 
 A blasphemy, a violation 
 And perfect profanation ;   
Wherefore the god hath flown. 
 My heart no longer trembles 
If that blind Harper—blind, or he dissembles !— 
 Touches its strings with burning finger-tips, 
 Or fastens his soft lips 
About my soul. . . . Then what is left 
To a woman love-bereft ?   
 
I have tasted Passion ;  I have known 
 How the sharpness and the softness and the sweetness 
 Mix to one pomegranate’s completeness 
Wherein Hell and Earth are shown.