Poem By Alice Duer Miller
NIGHT after night within the grove
The night wind spares the sacred fire -
The breath made visible of love,
Of worship and desire.
I set the tripod at thy shrine;
The silver bowl, the amber flame,
And in the dark where no stars shine
I speak thy name.
By the high name I call on thee
Which only I, thy priestess, know.
I tread thy dance in ecstasy,
Sweet steps and slow.
O God, the hour has come. Appear!
I have performed the appointed rite -
The dance, the fire; I long to hear
Wings in the night.