Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE HOLY PLACE i99 The scarlet vesture and the crimson skin ! As Aphrodite clove The foam, incarnate Love, Maiden; as light leaps the dawn-gardens in, So in the Love and Light, Life slain, yet infinite, The God-Man’s night, Leaps pure the Soul re-arisen from the embrace of Sin. Yet, in the terror of that Breast, abides So sweet and deadly a device, a lure Deep in the blood and poison of her sides, Swart, lean, and leprous, that her stings endure. Even the soul of grace Abideth not her face Without vague longing, infinite desire, Stronger because suppressed, Unto the wide black breast, The lips incarnate of blood, flesh, and fire, So to slip down between Thighs vast and epicene, Morose and lean, To that unnameable morass, the ultimate mire. Wherefore behoves the Soul that leaps divine, Even beholding, darkly in a mirror, The face of God, to sink before His Shrine, Weeping: O Beauty, Majesty, and Terror, Wisdom and Mind and Soul, Crown simplex, Mighty Whole, Lord of the Gods! O Thou, the King of Kings ! To me a sinner, me, Lowest of all that be, Be merciful, O Master Soul of things ! Show me thy face of ruth, And in thy way of truth Guide my weak youth, That stumbles while it walks, makes discord when it sings ! So, Mighty Mother! Pure, Eternal Spouse, Isis, thou Star, thou Moon, thou Mightiest, Lead my weak steps to thine Eternal House ! Rest my vain head on thine Eternal Breast ! Spread wide the wings divine Over this shadowy shrine, Where in my heart their hovering lendeth Light ! Bend down the amazing Face Of sorrow and of grace, Share the deep vigil of thine eremite ! So let the sighing breath Draw on the Hour of Death, Whence wakeneth The Spirit of the Dawn, begotten of the night. THE NAME. SACRED, between the serpent fangs of pain, Ringed by the vortex of the hurricane, Lurks the abyss of fate: the gloomy cave, Sullen as night, and sleepy as a wave When tempest lowers and dare not strike, gapes wide, Vomiting pestilence ; the deadly bride Of death, Despair, grins charnel-wise: the gate Of Hope clangs resonant: and starless Fate Glowers like a demon brooding over death. Monstrous and mute, the slow resurgent breath Spreads forth its poison: the pale child at play Coughs in his gutter ; the hard slave of day Groans once and dies: the sickly spouse can feel Some cold touch kill the unborn child, and steal Up to her broken heart: the pale hours hang Like death upon the agéd: the days clang Like prison portals on the folk of day. Yet for the children of the night they play Like fountains in the moonlight: for the few, The sorrowful, sweet faces of the dew, The laughter-loving daughters of the dawn, Whose moving feet make tremble all the lawn From Hesper to the break of rose and gold, Where Heaven’s petals in the East unfold The awful flower of morning : for the folk Bound in one single patient love, a yoke