I Have Sought And Followed You, Drunk With Your Sacred Wine; Led Out By A Laughing Wind On A Tumbling Sea, On Crags Amid Clouds, In Cups That Allure The Bee, And Deep In The Gem-Lit Gloom Of The Tortuous Mine, And On Widespread Wings Where The Great Worlds Dance And Shine I Have Sought By The Golden Light; But Have Bent The Knee At Last Where You Lie, A Humble Goddess And Free, Naked And Flushed In The Warmth Of A Crimson Shrine. The Hordes Of Hate Have Trampled Your Blooms In Mire, And Cackle And Roar As Their Mockery Priests Blaspheme, And Sing The Marching Hymn Of A Wingless Might. They Forge Their God In The Heat Of Unholy Fire The Squat Strong Incubus Born Of An Evil Dream; And It Shrinks And Crumbles Away In The Golden Light.