Beyond the Word   Beyond the wordiness of the word, Beyond its pomp and show, Where the crystal meaning sings a bird On hills of truth, I'd go.   I'm tired of all this trumpery, Fine phrases void of heart, Vain peacockings of majesty, The God-king's regal art.   O sweet beloved simplicity, White wisdom of the soul, Your purifying radiance free To pass across my scroll.   O Word of God, immaculate, From silences deep heard, From inward pureness liberate In me the truth-born word. Page-161

The Phoenix   The gold-blue bird is in the sun: Silent and swift the white fires run Down all the crystalled terraces; But in the forest all lies dry, Too frail to bear the blazing sky, And no birds sing among the trees.   Only the red-green macaws sit Pick-pecking at the Infinite, Sullen or screaming to the blue; The nest of incense, myrrh and spice Has burnt up in the sacrifice Both mother-bird and fledgling new...   Long twilights sweep across the land; The thin trees leafless, sapless stand With branches bare that skyward yearn; The brown earth cracks to drink fresh grace, The red-green macaws lift their

Magdalen   When my soul grows rich like scented oil,  I will pour it out at your feet; Till then, O Love, leave me to walk Alone the wild night street.   Till then, O Love, let my dark hair Yet hide me when we meet; But give me strength, at last to come And wind it round your feet. Page-16

Thirst   From lands of famine we have spoken, Before the coming down of rain, Before the radiant one, the purest, Has cleansed the fields of thirst and pain;   While trembling rivers lie and wait Aswoon in yearning mute and long, For God's white touch upon their limbs To gather meaning for their song;   And still dark wraps the prisoned root, Longing to shape its ecstasy Of happy drink, in flower and fruit, When glimmering rain shall set it free;   And little voices, little dreams, And birds, and golden germs and seeds Wait praying for your purity To make them prosper in their creeds.   Before you come, O Beautif

Brain-markets   Ah, will you call all crazy vendors To markets of the cluttered brain, Now giddy with magician splendours, Now drawing from a dirty drain?   What will they buy, what will they sell, Here in the world's exchange and mart? Drive bargains hard for heaven or hell, Lay dizzy prices on the heart?   Here throng the crowds of fairy dreams, And jostling thoughts, insistent wills; Desire's high-pitched voice here screams, Black money flows for smuggled ills.   There's just one treasure worth your buying, Beyond all splendours you may find, Within the tumult and the crying — The silence of the sunlit mind

Spell   My dear, don't ever talk like this: Is it not time to understand That in this poor queer world our bliss Is not within our hand?   Why should we torture so our heart, Repeating endlessly the spell, When all its magic, all its art, Opens a deeper hell?   Unweave the incantation's power  Before its fire touch the brain, Be still within the starlit hour, And let Truth heal our pain. Page-42

Beyond the Nights   O Sun, beyond the silent nights of loneliness, Illume the pallid wandering sight's groping distress.   Sharp spears of light, fire-rods swift leap down darkness' brain, Pierce through the heavy clouds of sleep, bring inward rain.   Stretch forth Your hand of power and take my fumbling hand; Hold fast till the child-heart awake and understand. Page-110

Golden Rain   Ever your nectared glory drips  Its shining gold apocalypse Through the rock-roofs of agelong sleep;  Empooled within the heart's lone cave,  Its joy-streams gather wave on wave, Far wisdoms of your plumbless deep.   For ever pours the golden rain Within the blue lakes of the brain Its strange, entranced magic lore; The great white swans descend from high Within the spirit's vaulted sky, And nestle on its star-pearl shore.   Wild gleaming cascades of delight Drop headlong from the zenithed height Empowered sun-truths, moons of grace; And all the splendour, triumph, power,  Is gathered to a mystic flower

The Heart-stone   Entombed in pitiless dark the years move slow; God knows we're taught to die! in agony The whirlpool mind throws up unceasingly The same old idiocies stored far below. The heart's a stone; could love's rose streamlets flow From mouths of rock and sand? could music be Found in the burial-place of memory? — It's death by inches, as was said long ago.   And yet not death; for still all through the night A strange breath passes down the tunnelled hill; And deep within the heart-stone burns a light, A jewel-flame; the sarcophagi hold A million suns; the tomb-robbers' blackest skill Could not break through and

Without You   In this night of passing shadows, This phantom world of gleams untrue, And labyrinths and crooked pathways, How would I manage without You?   I cannot take a step in music, Cannot climb my daily stair, Or think or move to any purpose But because You are always there.   How strangely helpless is my being Without You; not a turn I take, Or aught I do can issue rightly, If it be not for Your sake.   What is this I? a nought, a silence, A shadow in a world of shades, Unreal like the glimmering figures That walk the wall in masquerades. Page-113