Leyland Huckfield

THE GATES of brass are closed

That guard the ivory altar;

The great arched rafters frown on thee

Who art the harlot’s daughter.

With lips like a carmine rose,

With robes like orchids rare,

With breath like spices delicate

That languorous pagans bear;

With thy petal cheeks aglowing,

And with thy white knees showing,

And shy, soft eyes that falter—

Go hence, enticing demon child,

Thou hast not beads nor psalter.