and mired campestral rose. Ended that purgatorial period, Filled was thy wallet and thy feet were shod, The leaden weights were moved, the rack withdrawn, Thou didst traverse the dewy fields of dawn, Watch sunsets blazoning over upland turf, Pull poppies from the frontiers of the surf, Dwelled'st with love and human eyes Vigilant, calm and wise. But still as when thy bark did ride Derelict on the city's tide, As then for penury now for pride Thy bodily senses were denied; Though they cried out and would not sleep, Ascetic thou didst armour them Lest acid pleasure should eat thine art's pure gem. Hourly the tempter's ambuscades But thou didst guard the gates and keep Thy senses' hungry colonnades Accessible but to Beauty's ministers, Unlit by any ruby flame but hers. Immuring so thy spirit eager Within a body frail and meagre, Far from the meads of earthly milk and honey, Yet franchised of more wondrous territories, Like those poor Bedouin of Arabia the Stony Who roam spare-fed and hollow-eyed but free By day to wander and by night to camp In vast serenity, Compassed by God's great silent glories The sun's gold splendour and the moon's white lamp, Folded and safe from harm Beneath the mighty sky's protecting arm. Ha! but the Titan's ardour Wherewith thou scour'dst the vast, To spoil the starry larder Of fruits of heavenly taste! Urania's fiercest servant, With thirst as furnace fervent And serene burning brow, Worthy of thy great lineage, thou Drankest without a shudder In proud humility Milk from that vast primæval udder That swells for such as thee, Milk from the fountains of the Universe That cowards deem infected with a curse, That flushes him who drinks Nor shrinks The exalted anguish of diurnal draughts To a clear vision, more intolerable In its blissful pain, than love's most ardent shafts, Of the seats where she doth dwell, She, whom thou didst confess Enticed Thee hot to her throne to press For the greater glory of Christ To uplift the curtains of her closed eyes. Not all was for thy learning Nor any mortal's else; Only for thy discerning Sporadic syllables Of those supernal glances Coffer of which her marble countenance is, Yet vain was not the adventure, Reluctant though the prize, Thou gainedst a debenture On the fringe of Beauty's eyes; Such fragmentary trophy As some cross-tunic'd knight From Saladin or Sophy May have won in sword's despite, Not the dear polar shrines Held captive by the Paynim But still as fruit of wars Some stone from Sion's lines, Some relic that might sain him Of life's uncounted scars. Self-dedicated anchorite, Never disdainful of the dust, But conscious of the overcoming night That must engulph the blooms and berries of lust, And unforgetful of the enveloping day beyond; Though a sweet show was spread for 

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