168 THE TEMPLE OF THE HOLY GHOST
Close we
To trample and defile:
are come; before us is the Cross
the bones shall
shudder
Of many a self-slain darling. I'rom_ the
moss
Swamp-adders greet us. IIow the dancers
toss
The frantic limb, the unreluctant udder !
See, how their frenzy peoples all the ground !
Strange demon-shapes take up the unholy
measure,
Strange beast and worm and crab:
couth sound
Of the unheard-of kisses: the profound
Gasps of the maniac, the devouring pleasure!
the un-
A curse of God is on them !—ha ! the curse,
The curse that locks them in obscene em-
braces !
See how love mocks the melancholy hearse
Dressed as an altar: is she nun or nurse,
The priestess chosen of the half-formed faces ?
An abbess, child of the unsullied eyes !
Why? To blaspheme! Sweet child,
dance grows madder.
O I am faint with pleasure! Ah! be wise;
One measure more, and then—the sacrifice?
What victim? Guess—a woman or an
adder?
the
Nay, fear not, baby! In your mother’s
hand .
You must be safe?
that bare you !.
Who comes toward us? Why, our God, the
Grand !
You trust the womb
Our Baphomet!' Come, baby, to the
band :
Our God may kiss you—yes, he will not
spare you !
1 Supposed to be the abbreviation of the
bi gee: Order spelt backwards: Tem. o. h.
p. ab. =Templi omnium hominum pacis pater
(Heb. Ab, father). Some assert the word to be
really a synthesis of a great body of secret
doctrine, discoverable by any one who knows
the Qabalistic meaning of each letter.
Fall down, my baby ; worship him with me.
There, go; I give you to his monster kisses !
Take her, my God, my God, my infamy,
My love, my master! take the fruit of me!
— Shrieks every soul and every demon
hisses !
Out ! out ! the ghastly torches of the feast !
Let darkness hide us and the night discover
The shameless mysteries of God grown
beast,
The nameless blasphemy, the sliméd East—
Sin incarnatéd with a leprous lover !
‘‘tfoc est enim” 14—the victim! ah! my
womb,
My womb has borne the victin! Now I
queen it
To-night upon the damned—thy love makes
room,
My goat-head godhead, for my hecatomb !
Iam thy mistress, and thy slaves have seen
it !
Even as thy cold devouring kisses roll
Over my corpse; I hear its death-cry thrill
me!
Thine !—O my God! I render thee the
whole,
My broken body and my accurséd soul !
Come, come, come, come! Ah! conquer
me and kill me !
THE BRIDEGROOM.
No passion stirs the cool white throat of
her ;
No living glory fills the deep dead eyes ;
No sleep that breaks her Southern
indolence ;
Not all the breezes out of heaven, that stir
The sleepy wells and woodlands, bid her
rise 3
Nor all a godhead’s amorous violence.
_She is at peace ; we will go hence.
1 ** Hoc est enim corpus meum,” the words
used in the Mass at the elevation of the Host.