157 
 
 
 
 
 
AVE ADONAI 
 
PALE as the night that pales 
 
In the dawn’s pearl-pure pavilion, 
I wait for thee, with my dove’s breast 
Shuddering, a god its bitter guest— 
 
Have I not gilded my nails 
 
And painted my lips with vermilion ?   
 
Am I not wholly stript 
 
Of the deeds and thoughts that obscure thee ?   
I wait for thee, my soul distraught 
With aching for some nameless naught 
 
In its most arcane crypt— 
 
Am I not fit to endure thee ?   
 
Girded about the paps 
 
With a golden girdle of glory, 
Dost thou wait me, thy slave who am, 
As a wolf lurks for a strayed white lamb ?   
 
The chain of the stars snaps, 
 
And the deep of night is hoary !   
 
Thou whose mouth is a flame 
 
With its seven-edged sword proceeding,