XII
I think the hurt is healed, for (by the law
That forms our being) you must suffer as I,
Hunger as I, rejoice as I, withdraw
Into the same far transcendental sky
Of this initiated rapture. Hurt
Of shame for me is past, beholding Gods
Only a little part of me, and dirt
Such as men fling and women paste, no odds.
Moreover, by the subtle and austere
Vintage we drain, albeit we drain the less,
There is no headache for the morning drear,
No fluctuant in our tideless ecstasies—
Whereby, o maiden o' mine, the runic rime
Tells me we have ree'd the riddle of old Time.
That forms our being) you must suffer as I,
Hunger as I, rejoice as I, withdraw
Into the same far transcendental sky
Of this initiated rapture. Hurt
Of shame for me is past, beholding Gods
Only a little part of me, and dirt
Such as men fling and women paste, no odds.
Moreover, by the subtle and austere
Vintage we drain, albeit we drain the less,
There is no headache for the morning drear,
No fluctuant in our tideless ecstasies—
Whereby, o maiden o' mine, the runic rime
Tells me we have ree'd the riddle of old Time.
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