The Rapture

I drank your flesh, and when the soul brimmed up In that sufficing cup, Then, slowly, steadfastly, I drank your soul; Thus I possessed you whole; And then I saw you, white, and vague, and warm, And happy, as that storm Enveloped you in its delirious peace, And fearing but release, Perfectly glad to be so lost and found, And without wonder drowned In little shuddering quick waves of bliss; Then I, beholding this More wonderingly than a little lake That the white moon should make Her nest among its waters, being free Of the whole land and sea, Remembered, in that utmost pause, that heaven Is to each angel given As wholly as to Michael or the Lord, And of the saints' reward There is no first or last, supreme delight Being one and infinite. Then I was quieted, and had no fear That such a thing, so dear And so incredible, being thus divine, Should be, and should be mine, And should not suddenly vanish away. Now, as the lonely day Forgets the night, and calls the world from dreams, This, too, with daylight, seems A thing that might be dreaming; for my soul Seems to possess you whole, And every nerve remembers: can it be This young delight is old as memory?