The Winged Beetle

THE WILD ASS 161 So climb, each ledge an infinite stress, Lustful as light, as lechery loth, From the brutality of Besz To the plumed perjury of Thoth ! I held him holy. Holier both Than aught the bearers of the bier, Thoum-aesh-neith and Auramoth, Saw in the hiding-house of fear. The sorceries that span the sphere, The spells that harness star and sun, I whispered in his siren ear— Once, twice, and thrice for every one ! Once, twice, and thrice—the boon’s begun ! With four and five and six it stirs : With seven the druid dance is done, And Death drives home his silver spurs ! Then—the last leap. What crowning curse Can bid that cup of curses brim ? How may God’s maniac ministers Lash the last langour out of Him ? I did it. How ? So great and grim The Gods are, I may never guess. Suffice it, on his mouth I swim A drowning dastard. The caress