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                                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.

{352}

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