THE PRINCESS OF PANORMITA 
51 
 
Let him pierce his God to the marrow !   
 Let the soul of his God flow out !   
Whether a snake or a sun 
 In his horoscope Heaven hath cast, 
It is nothing ;  every one 
 Shall win to the moon at last. 
 
The mage hath wrought by his art 
 A billion shapes in the sun. 
Look through to the heart of his heart, 
 And the many are shapes of one !   
An end to the art of the mage, 
 And the cold grey blank of the prison !   
An end to the adamant age !   
 The ambrosial moon is arisen. 
 
I have bought a lilywhite goat 
 For the price of a crown of thorns, 
A collar of gold for its throat, 
 A scarlet bow for its horns. 
I have bought a lark in the lift 
 For the price of a butt of sherry :   
With these, and God for a gift, 
 It needs no wine to be merry !   
 
I have bought for a wafer of bread 
 A garden of poppies and clover ;   
For a water bitter and dead 
 A foam of fire flowing over.