The golden journey

For wide the brazen doors will swing

Soon as his sandals touch the pave;

The anxious light inside will wave

And tremble to a lunar ring

About the form that lieth prone

Before the dreadful altar-stone.

She will not look or speak or stir,

But with drowned lips and cheeks death-white

Will lie amid the pool of light,

Until, grown faint with thirst of her,

He shall bow down his face and sink

Breathless beneath the eddying brink.

Then a swift music will begin,

And as the brazen doors shut slow,

There will be hurrying to and fro,

And lights and calls and silver din,

While through the star-freaked swirl of air

The god's sweet cruel eyes will stare.