202
THE EQUINOX
II
The secret of the House of Set.
As a poor pilgrim clambering
Toils on the slopes, so I to get
Halidom for my lord the King.
Faintly and feebly murmuring
I uttered the mysterious runes,
And bade my body’s sleekness sing
Silky, satanic, subtle tunes.
Was he not holy? Milk of moons
Were not so pallid as his cheek,
And roses of a million Junes
His mouth left livid. So I seek
In all God’s seas a tiny creek
Wherein to moor my shallop. Nay!
He is a mountain, chill with bleak
Stark winds of innocence astray!
The fearful passion sweeps me away.
So with a passionate thrill of fear
I creep—like shadows across Day!
Like Winter on the expended year !—
From those cold feet, a frozen meer,
To those cold knees, a lost lagoon,
To that wild woodland, strangely near
To the lone tower that tops the moon !