The eunuchs came: fierce scimitars Stirred in the torch-lit corridors. She spoke like one who prays in sleep, And bade me strike or she would leap. I bade her leap; the time was short; And kept the dagger for my heart. She leapt. I put their blades aside And smiling in their faces--died. THE ROSICRUCIAN I The tripod flared with a purple spark, And the mist hung emerald in the dark: Now he stooped to the lilac flame Over the glare of the amber embers, Thrice to utter no earthly name; Thrice, like a mind that half remembers; Bathing his face in the magic mist Where the brilliance burned like an amethyst. II "Sylph, whose soul was born of mine, Born of the love that made me thine, Once more flash on the flesh! Again Be the loved caresses taken! Lip to lip let our mouths remain!-- Here in the circle of sense, awaken! Ere spirit meets spirit, the flesh laid by, Let me know thee, and let me die!" III Sunset heavens may burn, but never Know such splendor! There bloomed an ever Opaline orb, where the sylphid rose A shape of luminous white; diviner White than the essence of light that sows The moons and suns through space; and finer Than radiance born of a shooting-star, Or the wild Aurora that streams afar. IV "Look on the face of the soul to whom Thou givest thy soul like added perfume! Thou, who heard'st me, who long had prayed, Waiting alone at evening's portal!-- Thus on thy lips let my lips be laid, Love, who hast made me all immortal! Give me thine arms now! Come and rest Happiness out on my beaming breast!" V Was it her soul? or the sapphire fire That sang like the note of a Seraph's lyre? Out of her mouth there came no word-- She spake with her soul, as a flower speaketh Fragrant messages none hath heard, Which the sense divines when the spirit seeketh.... And he seemed alone in a place so dim That the spirit's face, who was gazing at him, For its burning eyes he could not see: Then he knew he had died; that she and he Were one; and he saw that this was she. THE NORMAN KNIGHT Within the castle chamber The Norman knight lay dead; The quarterings of the casement Shone holy round his head. And first there came a maiden; Her face was wet and white: She kissed his mouth and murmured, "Thou wast my own true knight." Within the arrased chamber The Norman knight lay dead; And tapers four and twenty Burnt at his feet and head. And next there came a friar And prayed beside the bier: "Thou art a blesséd angel, Who wast so noble here." Within the lofty chamber The Norman knight lay dead; Dim through the carven casement The moonbeams lit his head.