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By Eleanor Downing

Behind me lies the mistress of the East,

Golden in evening, fairy dome on dome

Poised and irised like the far-flung foam

Lashed on the ribs of some forsaken coast.

Wicked and lovely temptress, fruitless boast

Of all that man may build and little be,

Mart of the world’s base passions, where thy feast

Of shame was spread, thy sin encompassed me,

Where all desires and all dreams were rife

With lust of flesh and eye and pride of life,

Lo! I have reft thy carnal mastery—

I have gone forth and shut the gates of thee.

Before me lies the desert and the night,

White star and gold above a pathless waste,

Blue shade and gray to where the world effaced

Flings loose its shadows on the lap of God.

Briars and dust upon my brow, unshod,

In pilgrim weeds athwart a vineless land,

My feet shall pass and mark the path aright,

For lo! Thy staff and rod are in my hand;

And with the light Thy city shall unfurl

Its golden oriflames and tents of pearl—

Dead Babylon, thy gilden clasp I flee;

Jerusalem, lift up thy gates to me!