I
Lord! on love's altar lies the sacrament.
O willing victim, eager to be slain,
Lusting to feel the knife, the life-veil rent,
Assumption energized by death! O fain
To feel the murderous ardour of the priest
Clutch at his throat, theurgic frenzy fly
About the initiates of the Paschal feast
And know it centred in the dim dead I
Loosed by the pang—even thus you know it is,
Even thus, when I invoke your harsh caress,
Put up my mouth to you immortal kiss,
Confess you for my lady and murderess—
In mine own life-blood I exult to float
Even as your white fangs fasten in my throat.
O willing victim, eager to be slain,
Lusting to feel the knife, the life-veil rent,
Assumption energized by death! O fain
To feel the murderous ardour of the priest
Clutch at his throat, theurgic frenzy fly
About the initiates of the Paschal feast
And know it centred in the dim dead I
Loosed by the pang—even thus you know it is,
Even thus, when I invoke your harsh caress,
Put up my mouth to you immortal kiss,
Confess you for my lady and murderess—
In mine own life-blood I exult to float
Even as your white fangs fasten in my throat.
— 67 —
