The Mother’s Tragedy

68 THE MOTHER AT THE SABBATH Close we are come; before us is the Cross To trample and defile: the bones shall shudder Of many a self-slain darling. From the moss Swamp-adders greet us. How 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: the uncouth sound Of the unheard-of kisses: the profound Gasps of the maniac, the devouring pleasure! A curse of God is on them !—ha! the curse, The curse that locks them in obscene embraces! See how love mocks the melancholy hearse Dressed as an altar: is she nun or nurse, The priestess chosen of the half-formed faces ? Abbess, sweet child of the unsullied eyes! Why? To blaspheme! Sweet child, the 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? Nay, fear not, baby! In your mother’s hand You must be safe ? You trust the womb that bare you! Who comes toward us? Why, our God, the Grand! Our Baphomet! Come, baby, to the band: Our God may kiss you—yes, he will not spare you !