Chapter XIII: The Voice of Love

II

"Mine, mine!" saith Love, "Although ye serve no more Mine images of ivory and bronze With flute-led dances of the days of yore, But leave them to barbarian orisons Of dull hearth-loving hearts, mistaking me: Yet from mine incense ye shall not divorce Remembrance. Fools, these recantations be Ardours that prove you still idolators; And, though ye hurry through the circling hells Of bright ambition like hopes and energies, That haste bewrays you. My great doctrine dwells Immortal in those fevered heresies, And all the inversions of my rites proclaim The mournful memory of mine altar-flame."