Lotus-Lamp

As the lotus of a lamp

Swims in one place

On the gutter's gurgle and jump

And scurry without grace—

As that cool blossom floats

Like a silver stain

Made by deep organ-notes

On a painter's brain—

Trembling a little and breaking

Yet clinging as one,

Stamped on the water's waking

Like a dream-sun

That nothing of crude clay

Can touch or move—

So, fixed though far away,

Some haloed Love

Shines down its secret soul,

Flame-flower with no root,

Which life with its slushy roll

Leaves still and mute,

A birth-mark out of a womb

Deeper than thought,

Flinging a godlike doom

From a golden grot

Hung virgin above the tosst

Wave of time's dirt,

The crown of a steel-post

Vigilling inert,

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Withdrawn from snaky swirl

Of mortal cries,

True to the mother-of-pearl

Lustre that lies

Immovable though thin

On each desire

Winding its froth within

The walls of mire

Which build the body of man. . .

O might I feel—

Through dreams that hushward run—

A Self of steel,

Upright and hurtless and high,

Then hiddenly climb

To the lotus-lamp of the Eye ,

That is lord of time!

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