68 THE MOTHER AT THE SABBATH
Close we are come; before us is the Cross
To trample and defile: the bones shall shudder
Of many a self-slain darling. From the moss
Swamp-adders greet us. How the dancers toss
The frantic limb, the unreluctant udder!
See, how their frenzy peoples all the ground!
Strange demon-shapes take up the unholy measure,
Strange beast and worm and crab: the uncouth sound
Of the unheard-of kisses: the profound
Gasps of the maniac, the devouring pleasure!
A curse of God is on them !—ha! the curse,
The curse that locks them in obscene embraces!
See how love mocks the melancholy hearse
Dressed as an altar: is she nun or nurse,
The priestess chosen of the half-formed faces ?
Abbess, sweet child of the unsullied eyes!
Why? To blaspheme! Sweet child, the dance grows
madder.
O I am faint with pleasure! Ah! be wise;
One measure more, and then—the sacrifice ?
What victim ? Guess—a woman or an adder?
Nay, fear not, baby! In your mother’s hand
You must be safe ? You trust the womb that bare you!
Who comes toward us? Why, our God, the Grand!
Our Baphomet! Come, baby, to the band:
Our God may kiss you—yes, he will not spare you !