The Temple

My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed, O Temple built apart in wilderness For an unseen divinity, a goddess Who from her being's deep abyss reveals Only a statue wrought by human hand And even covered with a veil opaque.

Methinks I see among thy sculptured columns, Among thy secret treasures and thine altars, Ion, the Delphic priest, who lays aside The snow-white raiment of the sacrifice And takes up the wayfarer's knotty staff. I am no ministrant, nor have I held The dreadful mystic key, nor have I touched Boldly or timidly the sacred gate That leads to Life's deep-hidden mysteries. One sinner more, O Temple, in the midst Of sinful multitudes, I come to worship.

My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed; I feel the chill of night or of the tomb Creeping upon me slowly, stealthily. But lo, I struggle to shake off the evil That creeps on me so cold; with longing heart, I drag my bleeding knees beyond thy walls, Out of thy columns--forests stifling me-- Into the sunlight and the moon's soft glimmer.

Away with prayer's burning frankincense! Away with the gold knife of the sacrifice! Away with choirs loud-voiced and clad in white, Singing their hymns about the flaming altars! Abandoning thee, O Temple, I return To the small hut of the first bloom of time.