Also the taste of dust long dead
Of ancient queens corrupt and fair
Struck through the temple, subtly sped
By demons dominant of the air.
Last, on the flesh there came a touch
Like sucking mouths and stroking hands
That laid their foul alluring smutch
Even to the blood’s mad sarabands.
So did the neophyte that would gaze
Into dead Pharaoh’s awful eyes
Start from incalculable amaze
To clutch the initiate’s place and prize.
He bore the blistering thought aloft:
It blazed in battle on his plume:
With sage and warrior enfeoffed,
He rushed alone through tower and tomb.
The myriad men, the cohorts armed,
Are shred like husks: the ensanguine brand
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