THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY. 
57 
The wind is amorous of the sea, 
 The sea’s large limbs to its embrace 
Curl, and thy perfume curls round me, 
 An incense on my eager face.  
 
I see, beyond all seas and stars, 
 The gates of hell, the paths of death 
Open :  unclasp the surly bars, 
 Before the voice of him that saith : 
 
“ I will ! ”  Droop lower to my knees ! 
 Sink gently to the leopard’s skin ! 
I must not stoop and take my ease, 
 Or touch the body lithe and thin. 
 
Bright body of the myriad smiles, 
 Sweet serpent of the lower life, 
The smooth silk touch of thee defiles, 
 The lures and languors of a wife. 
 
Slip to the floor, I must not turn : 
 There is a lion in the way ! 
The star of morning rise and burn : 
 I seek the dim supernal day ! 
 
Sleep there, nor know me gone :  sleep there 
 And never wake, although God’s breath 
Catch thee at midmost of the prayer 
 Of sleep—that so dream turns to death.