But yet no earthbound evil spirit comes Taking advantage of my unwrought mind, Tempting me to a gay concubinage, In likeness of some ancient queen of heaven Ardent and ever young. The legends say They come to hermits so, and holy saints, Disguised in a most blinding loveliness; Disrobe about the good man’s bed and twitch His blankets off and make as if to kiss him With sighs of passion irresistibly sweet. Yet he has power to turn on them, to cry “In the name of Christ begone!” and go they must. If I were a hermit now—but being myself I never give them challenge, never bend Kneeling at my bedside for hours together Praying aloud for chastity—that’s the bait Certain to draw them from their shadowy caves, Their broken shrines and rockbound fastnesses— Praying against the World, the Flesh, the Devil, But pausing most on Flesh—that praying against, Proposing yet denying the fixed wish! Closest expressed it’s the most dangerous.... How would I _say my prayers_ now, if I tried, Using what formula? Would instinct turn To Gentle Jesus meek and mild Look upon thy little child To Gentle Jesus and the entrancing picture Of _Pretty mice in Plicity_ (where alas, Is County Plicity now? Beyond what skyline? I climbed in vain to-day).... When Rachel prays, Does she still dreamily speak to Gentle Jesus, The shepherd in that Nurnberg oleograph Hanging above the nursery mantlepiece? Her God? Anthropomorphic surely. One Bearded like Moses, straddled on the clouds, Armed with thunderbolts and shaggy eyebrows. “Bless me, dear God, and make me a good child.” Her childishness obscures her womanhood. When was I ever conscious in her presence That she was bodily formed like other women With womb for bearing and with breasts for suckling, With power, when she desired, to rouse in me By but the slightest art in diminution Of her accustomed childish truthfulness, A word or gesture hinting doubtfulness, The angry stream flooding beyond restraint? And yet no frisky wraith has come to-night Assuming Rachel’s body, goading me With false presentment of her honest person To mutiny and to utter overthrow; No wanton Venus, no bold Helen of Troy.