54 
THE PRINCESS OF PANORMITA 
 
 
Now, at the crown of the year, 
 The decadent days of October, 
I come to thee, God, without fear ;   
 Pious, chaste, and sober, 
I solemnly sacrifice 
 This first-fruit flower of wine 
For a vehicle of thy vice 
 As I am Thine to be mine. 
 
For five in the year gone by 
 I pray Thee give to me one ;   
A lover stronger than I, 
 A moon to swallow the sun !   
May he be like a lilywhite goat 
 Crisp as a thicket of thorns, 
With a collar of gold for his throat, 
 A scarlet bow for his horns !