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Of columns north and south, ending in mist Of nothing; then to eastward, where black gates Were shut against the sunrise evermore; Then to the west I look'd, and saw far off An image, huge of feature as a cloud, At level of whose feet an altar slept, To be approach'd on either side by steps And marble balustrade, and patient travail To count with toil the innumerable degrees. Towards the altar sober-paced I went, Repressing haste as too unholy there; And, coming nearer, saw beside the shrine One ministering; and there arose a flame. When in mid-day the sickening east-wind Shifts sudden to the south, the small warm rain Melts out the frozen incense from all flowers, And fills the air with so much pleasant health That even the dying man forgets his shroud;— Even so that lofty sacrificial fire, Sending forth Maian incense, spread around Forgetfulness of everything but bliss And clouded all the altar with soft smoke; From whose white fragrant curtains thus I heard Language pronounced: "If thou canst not ascend These steps, die on that marble where thou art Thy flesh, near cousin to the common dust, Will parch for lack of nutriment; thy bones Will wither in few years, and vanish so That not the quickest eye could find a grain Of what thou now art on that pavement cold. The sands of thy short life are spent this hour, And no hand in the universe can turn