Classic Poem

II

Sometimes the Soul in pure hieratic rule
Is throned (as on some high Abbatial chair
Of moon-pearl and rose-rubies beautiful)
Within the body grown serene and fair:
Sometimes it weds her like a lifted rood;
But she endures, and wills no anodyne,
For then she flowers within the mystic Wood,
And hath her lot with gods--and seems divine:
Sometimes it is her lonely oubliet,
Sometimes a marriage-chamber sweet with spice:
It is her triumph-car with flutes beset,
The altar where she lies a sacrifice.--
Cold images! The truth is not in these.
Both are alive, both quick with rhapsodies.