The Soul of Osiris

THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 31 I, whose strong arms enfold her Immaculate surrender. Pure as the dawns that quicken On snow-topped mountains stricken By first gray light that grows, By beams that gather, thicken, A web of fairy ticken, To make a fairy rose : Pure as the seas that lave With phosphorescent wave The sombre architrave Of Castle No-man-knows. Pure as the dreams, undreamt (That men have in contempt, That wise men yearn to see), Of angel forms exempt From mockeries that tempt Who fly about the lea ; Proclaiming things unheard, Unknown to brightest bird, Things, whose unspoken word Is utmost secrecy. So pure, so pale we lie, Like angels eye to eye, Like lovers lip to lip. So, the elect knight, I Keep vigil to the sky, While the dumb moments slip.