To Pain

By George Sterling

Sandalled with morning and with evening star,
    Draw near me, Lady of ascendant pain,
    Whose hair has touched me in the twilight rain,
Whose home is where unchanging faces are.
You wait me where immortal feet have trod,
    And in your voice is music not-to-be,
    And in your eyes the night of mystery,
Old as the silence on the lips of God.

There is no treason in your given word.
    Your love is past all love, all vain delights,
And holy is the music I have heard.
        'Tis not the Cytherean that shall lead
    To stranger seas and unimagined heights,
        Nor stand in flame beside me at my need.

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