Into the holy precincts, where his soul
Unconsciously he to the spirit yields.
For verily he would not take this road
If he were conscious master of his soul.
Within the circle of our mysteries
The highest hierophant alone doth know
What mystic truths lurk in our sacred forms.
But he is dumb as solitude itself.
Such silence his high dignity commands.
The others gaze uncomprehendingly