THE BLOOD-LOTUS 
93 
With vine and myrtle and thy flower, my harlot-maiden, 
who for man 
Now first forsakest thy leman, thy Eve, my Lilith, in 
this bower 
 
Which we indwell, a deathless three, changeless and 
changing, as the pyre 
Of earthly love becomes a fire to heat us through 
eternity. 
 
I have forgotten Christ at last ;  he may look back, 
grown amorous, 
And call across the gulf to us, and signal kisses 
through the vast ; 
 
We shall disdain, clasp vaster yet, and mock his newer 
pangs, and call  
With stars and voices musical, jeers his touched heart 
shall not forget.  
 
I would have pitied him.  This flower spits blood upon 
him, so must I  
Cast ashes through the misty sky to mock his faded 
crown of power,