By the burning of the incense was the Word revealed, and by the distant drug.
O meal and honey and oil! O beautiful flag of the moon, that she hangs out in the centre of bliss!
These loosen the swathings of the corpse; these unbind the feet of Osiris, so that the flaming God may rage through the firmament with his fantastic spear.
But of pure black marble is the sorry statue, and the changeless pain of the eyes is bitter to the blind.
We understand the rapture of that shaken marble, torn by the throes of the crowned child, the golden rod of the golden God.