Page:The wind among the reeds.pdf/44

 Through many a sacred corridor Where such gray clouds of incense rose That only the gods' eyes did not close: For that pale breast and lingering hand Come from a more dream-heavy land, A more dream-heavy hour than this; And when you sigh from kiss to kiss I hear white Beauty sighing, too, For hours when all must fade like dew But ﬂame on ﬂame, deep under deep, Throne over throne, where in half sleep Their swords upon their iron knees Brood her high lonely mysteries.