In the Temple

The subtle-souled dim radiant queen
      Burns like a bale-fire through the mist;
The slender earth is bright and green,
      Emerald, gray and amethyst;
      The wavering breeze has slowly kissed
The way between
      Her zone and wrist.

Pale guardian of the altar-flame,
      Syren of old, perfidious song,
A murmuring runnel lately came
      In streaming hate of mortal wrong.
      Wait, for, my goddess, not for long
The snake is tame. …
      See! He is strong!

The wide-set temple-pillars gleam,
      As marble white, and tall as pines;
The doorway to immortal dream
      Lies through the temple's purple shrines.
      Behold, pure queen, the magic signs.
Let words out-stream
      As mingled wines! …

VICTOR B. NEUBURG.

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