AMBERGRIS 
121 
 
 
 
FROM RODIN IN RIME 
 
Faunesse 
 
The veil o’ th’ mist of the quiet wood is lifted to the 
seer’s gaze ; 
He burns athwart the murky maze beyond into be-
atitude. 
 
A solemn rapture holds the faun :  an holy joy sucks 
up the seer 
Within its rose-revolving sphere, the orient oval of 
the dawn. 
 
Light’s graven old cartouche is sealed upon the for-
est :  groves are gray 
With filtered glamours of the day, the steely ray flung 
off his shield. 
 
She kneels, yon spirit of the earth ;  she kneels and 
looks toward the east. 
In her gray eyes awakes the beast from slumber 
into druid mirth. 
 
She is amazed, she, eager, she, exotic orchid of the 
glade ! 
She waits the ripe, exultant blade, life tempered by 
eternity. 
 
And I who witness am possessed by awe grown 
crimson with desire, 
Its iron image wrapped in fire and branded idly on 
my breast. 
 
Her face is bronze, her skin is green, as woods and 
suns would have it so.