(This riding saps my courage as my cheer.)
Still, I must see his symbol of the Sun,
The Winepress, and the Beauty! Puerile
And pagan to that old mysterious one,
The awful Light and the anointed Vial,
The Dawning of the Blood, even as a smile:—
Even as a smile on Beauty’s burning cheek—
Ha! In a circle? As this journey is?
How vain is man’s imagining and weak!
Begod my lady, and my lady’s kiss?