Rosa Mundi

— 6 — In mine, and mine in thine. Peace, ye who praise ! ye but disturb the shrine ! This voice is evil over against the peace Here in the West, the holiest. Shaken and crossed The threads Lachesis wove fell from her hands. The pale divided strands Where taken by thy master-hand, Eros ! Her evil thinkings cease, Thy miracles begin. Eros ! Eros ! — Be silent ! It is sin Thus to invoke the oracles of order Their iron gates to unclose. The gross, inhospitable warder Of Love’s green garden of spice is well awake. Hell hath enough of Her three-headed hound ; But Love’s severer bound Knows for His watcher a more fearful shape, A formidable ape Skilled by black art to mock the Gods profound In their abyss of under ground. Beware ! Who hath entered hath no boast to make, And conscious Eden surelier breeds the snake. Be silent ! O ! for silence’ sake ! That asks the impossible. Smite ! Smite ! Profaned adytum of pure light, Smite ! but I must sing on. Nay ! can the orison