12 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
Swoon, and her soul, as my soul, trances, 
 Knowing no longer aught that is ; 
Only united, moving, mixed, 
A music infinitely fixed. 
 
Music that throbs, and soars, and burns, 
 And breaks the possible, to dwell 
One moving monotone, nor turns, 
 Making hell heaven, and heaven hell, 
The steady impossible song that yearns 
 And brooks no mortal in its swell— 
This monotone immortal lips 
Make in our infinite eclipse ! 
 
Formless, above all shape and shade ; 
 Lampless, beyond all light and flame ; 
Timeless, above all age and grade ; 
 Moveless, beyond the mighty name ; 
A mystic mortal and a maid, 
 Filled with all things to fill the same, 
To overflow the shores of God, 
Mingling our proper period. 
 
The agony is passed :  behold 
 How shape and light are born again ; 
How emerald and starry gold 
 Burn in the midnight ;  how the pain 
Of our incredible marriage-fold 
 And bed of birthless travail wane ; 
And how our molten limbs divide, 
And self and self again abide.