" SCIENCE IS THE OPIATE OF THE PEOPLE INFINITE Silence became the finite Voice And forged the flaming limits of the world A vast and empty fane ; and there up swirled The glittering motes whose ever-shifting poise Deluded men, miscall the stagnant Law Of an unchanging Heaven, the ever-furled Fixed title-deeds of Wealth—of graspers hurled Beyond return whenever spring days thaw The feudal frost of Privilege and Greed ! The spring is here, the Dream becomes the Deed, The uttering Voice congeals to future time With changing rhythm, wax and wane of speed Or weight of sound : what Demiurge has need Of

SANCTUARY GREEN gathering of summer-mantled trees Against a hush of turquoiser-torpid sky, And underfoot pale cow-wheat,—yellow rattle,— A tall-stemmed toadflax, more yellow than the twain, Trim whorled with leaves of smoothly glaucous hue. A footway skirts the flanges of each bole And roughens with the jut and twist of root And darkly wanders through embodied shade As it might lead to unimagined core, Stripped self, essential Form of woodland ness. October 27, 1935. Page-139

" WHITE-COMBING WAVES FROM A CLOUDLESS OCEAN" " That God has laid His fingers on the sky, . That from those fingers glittering summer runs Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave." [Lines in W. B. Yeats ' " THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND."] WHITE-COMBING waves from a cloudless ocean Fall on a fairy shore : Faint rhythm of their un shadowed motion Beats evermore A sorrow less dream, drugged by their magical potion, Within Time's core. Marble-white in the summer's glory, Foam-toss from sea to land : Mating their dance to a wordless story, Joy-silent band Of the ones whose locks can neve

ROSE-CROWNED, INSCRUTABLE LOVELY the lily's rays For the pure of soul, White silence of their days, And whispered goal. And the golden apples hang Blown by the breeze, Their gainers loosed from pang,— Hesperides ! Yet neither the white nor the gold I lief would sing, Though the harvest of truth they hold And the white peace bring. Eros with burning plumes— No other prize— On Thy altar rewards and dooms I sacrifice. Rose-crowned, inscrutable Thy faint smile wins High deeds from a world so full Of cluttered sins. Eldest of gods,

TO BOBBY, ON HEARING THAT HE WAS TO BE CAPTAIN OF THE FIRST FOOTBALL TEAM AS those who fare in crowded ways are stopped And feel the hurrying throng most hinder some, My eager thoughts that fain as words would come Are held from their goal, by silence are o'ertopped. Still keep thy own dear trust in my intent, O captain of that team and of my heart; It is no want of love, but lack of art That tarries payment for the wealth you've lent. And who shall gauge the kingdom's-worth you bring ? What sum would tell the joys that are your gift ? I'll not presume that I could half repay. The shrouds of light that cl

TIME-LAPSE BELLS with tongues of brass Measure the hours that pass, In a lofty tower swinging. Worms beneath the grass Make skulls like polished glass (Brief flowers that Time is flinging). Stars will cool to ash, Palaces topple and crash— Time's sword all unions ending.... The Woundless takes no gash : Vain waves of Maya dash On sheer cliffs of Truth ascending. November 20, 1936. Page-238

THE AVATARA MAGNET of all the world's desire, Soul of all music, shepherd of starry gyre, Gopal, Yasoda's foster-child, the demon-slayer, The beauty-hungry hearts to Thee aspire— Limber and lovely Lord, Brindavon's fluteplayer. Blue lotus borne on stem of gold, Mace, discus, trumpet did Vasudev behold, And Devaki, while wind and rain and levin weltered ; Thus were the kinghood and divinity foretold— Doom of Mathura's house by Kansa's dungeon sheltered. Cradled in Vasudeva's arms The Peerless One finds haven from those harms Of throne-usurping Kansa where the hallowed dream-way, Named Yamuna, mirrors the guardian palms Of Gokul

TWO SONGS FROM THE MOON The Shadowy Lake MY heart, come away to the waters of slumber O'erbrimming their shadowy lake, Where over the wavelets fly birds without number (And hardly their wings are awake). The air is entranced by the nenuphars blooming, Is drowsily fragrant and still; While through the grey shadows their whiteness is looming, A targe for the Moon Archer's skill. Voyage to Limbo I leapt aboard the fleeing boat To sail beyond the world— Pan's deft fingers, a shrilling oat Fooled not the sails unfurled. The waves have lost the rhyt

ONLY THE FOAM MADE RAINBOWS ONLY the foam made rainbows In that cloudless land, Where no storm or stain shows Enmities at hand. Under the blue blue ocean Sealed in a pearl-white grot Singers of heart's devotion Frame song-ways to that spot. Flowers are not more fragrant Than the incense of their strain ; The whispering currents vagrant Sift their golden grain. They've a tune of the silver fretting Of love's first eager dawn, And a rune of sun's outward setting In fields of deathless corn Where each poppy's a flaming token Of all that the world denies And a cornflower in sapphire h

BLUE FLOWERS BY A STREAM O WHO or what had called me That blue-skied day— Spring's aftermath of magic And meadowsweet and hay ? Across moon daisies nodding In the dream-surge of grass Time's haste less mirror fretted By a swallow's keening pass ? Certainly between each moment And its mate was set The wizard blade of the Timeless Swordsman no man has met. Thought at each crevice riven Sped swirling through,— A swift stream fringed with brooklime, It danced to a rhythm of blue. And like clear starlight flowing That stream went by Through the un regar