Fate of the Psyche Pierced by a shaft Of golden ray From a sky that laughed Through endless day, The human heart Has hung impaled Midway the dart Come from the Unveiled To the hidden house Below the earth, Where angels drowse, Padlocked from mirth. Like some bright key To that lost room, The pole's reverie Wakes the God-gloom. The captived cry Of heaven to heaven Lifts from hell's eye Where time has striven Vainly to reach The eternal noon. The silvering speech Climbs—a festoon— The silent bar Planted upright Between the sun-star And the fl

The Golden Hand A golden hand has plucked the deep heart's string To outward space, but a dark hand has kept It ever drawn away from the inward rest. How shall it tremble into melody If never the grip lets go? The plucking power Was meant for music, not for the outward's spell . . . Nor must the string be loosened to fall asleep After one ravishing note uttering all heaven: The rapturous rest was made to be pulled forth, Since not else God can grow world-harmony. A traffic to and fro 'twixt heaven and earth And not earth-tension or heaven-calm is the goal. Music for ever, music above all, Music to marry the two extr

Time Mystery before and Mystery behind, A nothing Now, a tremble and a fall— God of the future, Devil of the past, Man of the meaningless moment—here I stand. Great thought is all; life is a shell by the sea. When the great thought knows Him who moves in the deep, Joining the Self to the Self across the Self, come, Gone and Now are the Flame that licks up Time. 11-5-48 Page-7

Wondrous Chameleon No creature of rare moments white and gold Nor powered with a few flashes of wizardry But claiming each life-light as heaven's own, The soul sits smiling in the heart of time. Wondrous chameleon equal to all hues, Spurning no mood as void of the perfect dream, It breaks forth everywhere the epiphany: Out of its miracled deep it can lay bare With selfsame beauty of omnipotent ease The aureate Eternal, the argent Infinite, The grey God and the black Beatitude! Stainless, it makes of the most shadowy tones Ineffable mysteries of a deathless fire. . . . Each gaze divine, it leaps to every lure:

Voice front the Wideness A voice of myriad raptures with one soul, Hum of a measureless bee drunk with all flowers, Borne by a secret wind through night and day, Thrills from the wideness of the universe To an inmost silence lifting hands of prayer. The multitudinous call of transient things Comes perfumed now from an eternal deep And grows the breath of some far silver flute Playing a dream of earth's divinity. From everywhere it blows, yet like a word Brought delicately on a smile of trance By some vast lover to the loved one's ear— No name, but the rumour of a nameless fire, A tremulous tongue of golden myst

O Who Shall Tame the Tarpan?* A who shall tame the tarpan, Horse of wild Tartary? No word of wisdom in his ear Blows out the fire in his eye! He tosses off the saddle, He never brooks the bit— His snort at the earth comes clamouring For a freedom infinite. Out of the wastes of passion He brings within his soul A brutal beauty none can break: Earth-life is not his goal. He shakes up all our slumber, He tramples on our light; So deep his hoof-prints that they seem A scorn of heaven's height. But the vast and pathless places He longs for are a love Lost when he

Two Moons Over an endless groove that plunges and plunges, The globed liberties of the silver Calm Rejoice aloof from the all-engulfing pain. Against the background of that mystic Moon Roar the infinitude seas, the eternity hills Volcano to the Hush. Mere mocks in our sky, Stand the bare craters and the deep dry beds, Children of the burning pallor of mortal love. 11-5-48 Page-6

White Stallion White stallion champing the barley Of silent bliss— Gathering into thy heart's Vermilion abyss A power outrunning time, As if to a witching west Out of a wizard east Racing were one with rest, A calm that suddenly views Here grown to There, A wide-awake sleep devouring Aeons with a single stare! Fastest of all the flames Born of the Cave beyond sight, Bringing on starry nostrils A neigh that is night— Carrier of immortality Between blue wings, Yet hooved with a hurry to spurn Imperishable things— On all the tracks of truth Speed without peer, But unappeas

Beneath , Above My dawn's first look, the last look of my night Are a small window framing one slim tree, The mid-trunk visible, a groping brown, The top and base a secret to my sight. One pace from bed, in the morning of the mind Or in the heart's nocturnal glimmer and grey, Shows me the stem below, the leaves on high, A birth in clay, in void air a long search. But there's a cry from some great window lost: "Look not for truth without, truth lives within!". . Across the lonely strangenesses of sleep Looms a far vision that is night nor day: Between my drowse and my awakening, The tree is an Omniscience at blind play—

From 8th May to 8th August Forsake me not, Sweet Power! Make my life music with Thy kiss— I pray that if one hour Be without breath of Thy blue bliss, Let it be like the stop of a flute Where a master finger turns mute The magic air, that air may stream A perfect shape of the heart's dream Through other stops, and with each stifle free More subtle tones of the Infinite Mystery. 9-8-48 Page-123