Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/80

 Strange voices and strange shapes that beat To chill the heart and snare the feet. And through the tempest, beacon-bent To shelter from the driving damp Bespeaking warmth and sweet repose Within its sanctuary close, The welcome of a red shrine-lamp.

So unto Him Who, weary, pressed Through the fierce storm of wrath and hate, Shone Mary's love, a chapel-gate Where He might enter Him and rest.

A desert filled with shining sand, And still as death the skies that bend Where to horizon without end The rounding distances expand. A desert white with burning heat And parched silence without stir, And at its heart a voyager, Where Death and daggered noonday meet; And Thirst that grips him by the throat; When from the distance wreathing blue, No mirage, but a dream come true, Crowned palm-tree and pale waters float.

To Christ upon the rood, when dim Fell on His brow the Shade accurst, So Mary slaked His burning thirst With her white soul held up to Him.