Classic Poem

Our robes are flounced, oh Vul! our caps are horned;
For thy sweet sake with flowers we have adorned
Our flanks.
We are one thousand who unto thee give,
While thou, supreme, dost deign to let us live,
Our thanks.

Our cheeks are rubbed with pumice, and our arms
Are naked kept, to celebrate thy charms;
Our wrists
Are palsied by our bracelets, and we guide
Lovers unto thy shrine, and guard with pride
Their trysts.

Our sandals are embroidered, and the white
Of all our gowns rivals Ishtar's at night,
And deep
Within our breast thy mystic lotus-flower,
Emblem divine of thy divinest power,
We keep.

Upon our fillets and our ear-rings' gold,
The mystic circle graven there behold
Of Fate.
We worship thee with many harps and reeds,
For early thou attendest to our needs,
And late.

Saban the eunuch guards thy sacred shrine
And, doing so, is sacred and divine
To all;
For we arise when in the noiseless night
We hear in tones that even Kallassan fright,
Thy call!

Great Vul! we stand here robed to please thee now;
Blood spilt for thee is clotted on our brow,
Oh Vul!
Thy presence we have summoned, thrills and awes;
Favor us, Wonder! and Death's sternest laws