THE WIZARD WAY 
33 
 
Sweeter than the bee-sweet showers 
In the chalice of the flowers, 
More intoxicating than 
All the purple grapes of Pan. 
 
Ah !  my proper lips are stilled. 
Only, all the world is filled 
With the echo, that drips over 
Like the honey from the clover. 
Passion, penitence, and pain 
Seek their mother’s womb again, 
And are born the triple treasure, 
Peace and purity and pleasure. 
 
——Hush, my child, and come aloft 
Where the stars are velvet soft !