WAGES

Sometimes the spirit that never leaves me quite

Taps at my heart when thou art in the way,

Saying, Now thy Queen cometh: therefore pray,

Lest she should see thee vile, and at the sight

Shiver and fly back piteous to the light

That wanes when she is absent. Then, as I may,

I wash my soilèd hands and muttering, say,

Lord, make me clean; robe Thou me in Thy white!

So for a brief space, clad in ecstasy,

Pure, disembodied, I fall to kiss thy feet,

And sense thy glory throbbing round about;

Whereafter, rising, I hold thee in a sweet

And gentle converse that lifts me up to be,

When thou art gone, strange to the gross world's rout.