The Winged Beetle

48 THE PRINCESS OF PANORMITA O moon ! ambrosial moon ! Arise on my desert of sorrow That the magical eyes of me swoon With lust of rain to-morrow ! Ages and ages ago I stood on the bank of a river— Holy and holy and holy, I know, For ever and ever and ever ! A priest in the mystical shrine, I muttered a redeless rune, Till the waters were redder than wine In the blush of the harlot moon. I and my brother priests Worshipped a wonderful woman With a body lithe as a beast’s, Subtly, horribly human. Deep in the pit of her eyes I saw the image of death, And I drew the water of sighs From the well of her lullaby breath. She sitteth veiled for ever Brooding over the waste. She hath stirred or spoken never. She is fiercely, manly chaste ! What madness made me awake From the silence of utmost eld