So! The Fierce Acid Licks The Silver Clean, Unwonted Plain The Superscription'S Seen Round The Cleared Head; The Metal, Virgin-Bright, Shines A Mild Moon To The Sun Candle-Light. And In These Floating Stains, This Evil Murk, All Your Change-Crowded, Moment-Histories Lurk, Voluble Silverling! Dost Yield Me Now Your Chance-Illumined Record, And Allow Prying Of Idle Eyes?... You Came A Boon To Men As Weary As Any The Weak Moon Shines On But Cheers Not; You Were Life In Death; Almost A God To Give The Prize Of Breath, Almost A God To Give The Prize Of Joy, Almost A God--But God! The Veriest Toy Child'S Fingers Break, From Death To Buy Back Life, Turn The Keen Trouble Of Grief'S Eager Knife, Or Sense-Confounded Hearts Heal Of The Ancient Strife. O Coin That Men Have Toiled For, Lacked And Mourned, Sold Life For And Sold Honour, Won And Scorned; O Coin That Oft Hast Been A Spinning Fate, Yet Impotent Her Bitterness To Abate; O Coin That Love Contemns, Reckoning Nought (But With You, Ah, Love'S Best Is Sold And Bought)-- Heart Of The Harlot, You; The Judas Blood Hell'S Devils Leech On; You The Price Of God!