The Winged Beetle

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.