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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XII
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ON READING CERTAIN LETTERS
 Reading these lines, this record of lost days
 Where I am not, and yet where love has been,
 This tale of passions consecrate to men
 Other than me, unwitting of my ways,
 I seem to hear some pagan chaunt of praise
 Hymned to an idol shrine in gardens green,
 Some wild soft worship of a god obscene,
 Some idle homage to an idol face.
 I shut my ears, yet hear it still. My eyes
 See not, yet see the unchaste the unlawful fire;
 I scent the odour of the sacrifice,
 And feel the victim`s shriek. Then in my ire
 I rise up, as on Horeb, and I cry,
 ``There is none other god, but only I!``
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