Chapter LXI: The Ways of Love

Hail the implacable Iconoclast Whose images of ivory and gold Make proud the dust that his enthusiast In her dark trance may very God behold. From the clear music of his delicate Peripheries and porches of delight He draws her down through cruel gate on gate, Through immemorial, blind, implacable rite That strips her of her dream-branched veils of youth, And naked, agonised like trodden grapes, Drags her before the imperishable Truth, The flaming Ecstacy wherefrom he shapes Real myth and doctrine. Therefore I lift up My heart like some great jubilant scarlet Cup.

THE EPILOGUE OF THE DREAMING WOMEN

Take back this armour. Give us broideries. Against the Five sad Wounds inveterate In our dim sense, can that defend, or these? In veils mysterious and delicate Clothe us again, in beautiful broideries.

Take back this justice. Give us thuribles. While ye do loudly in the battle-dust, We feed the gods with spice and canticles. To our strange hearts, as theirs, just and unjust Are idle words. Give graven thuribles.

Keep orb and sceptre. Give us up your souls That our long fingers wake them verily Like dulcimers and citherns and violes; Or at the burning disk of ecstasy Impose rare sigils on your gem-like souls.

Give mercies, cruelties, and exultations, Give the long trances of the breaking heart; And we shall bring you great imaginations To urge you through the agony of Art. Give cloud and flame, give trances, exultations.