Classic Poem

Oh, of all maidens Mistress! Help at need
Of souls unstained and bosoms virginal!
With vervain and with fragrant gums we feed
The flame that burned, and burns, and ever shall;
Feed thou the fire that flames with holy thought,
And let the world to thy white shrine be brought.

The altar-light, mounting to find thy face,
Gleams back upon us from the brow divine,
Filling with placid splendor all the place:
Fill so the earth, supremest Goddess mine!
That men, awaking out of fancied light,
May know it, matched with Dian's noon-time — night.

O brow, where shame can never come to sit!
O cheek of snow, which blush can never melt!
O ear, that hears no word or wish unfit!
O breast, which thought unsainted never felt!
Show thyself, Dian! unto other eyes
As unto ours, thy deep-sworn votaries.

For we, who round about thine altar go,
Thou Daughter of the Father of the world!
Know thee divinest; — if men knew thee so,
Then were the false gods from their temples hurled;
And mortals, leaving blind and sinful yearning,
Should scorn false beauty, beauty true discerning.

Queen of the quiet sky! — the night's full Moon!
Be moon! and pierce the darkness of this cloud,
Whereunder wander, in a dreamful swoon,
The fellows of our blood, a witless crowd;
Send thou the silver ray that lightens this;
Show them the path which goes by good to bliss.

Huntress of noble harts, — high-purposed Maid!
Whose sandal tied for free and fearless chase
Is fairer than the cestus proud, displayed
By her of Cyprus, — stand in pride of place
Before the eyes of men, and lead them on
To hunt beside thee, turning off for none.

Ah, bliss! beside thee — by thee — in thy spirit —
The chase of life along the years to lead,
Conquering desire by high desire to merit
The joy of joys, the love of loves, the meed
Of untold peace, waiting th' unshaken faith
Firm held through life, in full repose on death.

For Thou, of all the gods, hast these to give, —
The kingdom of a calm and equal mind;
The kiss — cold, true — bidding the soul's life live
To meet caresses, tarrying yet behind,
But past hope tender, like the dreams the moon
Left on the forehead of Endymion.

Eheu! we speak of things we cannot know,
And knowing, in this presence we were dumb;
But on the winds which round thy portal go
Echoes from Aphrodite's revels come,
Marring our hymns. High Goddess! make men see
The " Foam-Born's " beauty but a blot to thee.