Gargoyles

The holy rosary, skull by skull, Polished and grim and beautiful! This jewelled shape of gold and bronze Is seated on my bosom’s throne ; She takes my muséd orisons To her, to her, to her alone. O Kali, Kali, Kali, quell This hooded hate, O Queen of Hell! Her ruby-studded brow is calm; Her eyes shine like some sleepy flood ; Her breast is oliban and balm; Her tongue lolls out, a-dripping blood ; She swings my body to and fro; She breaks me on the wheel of woe! To her eternal rapture seems Mere nature; underneath the crown Of dusky emeralds there streams A river of bliss to sluice me down With blood and tears, to drown my thought, To bring my being into naught. 69