COUNTERCHANGED PAINT the music of the star world, Sing the hues Of thunder fret and birds a-herrying ; All that accuse Our darkening ears, our eyes' hush-burying Show now unfurled. Timid clamour-pomps we see Whose mingled sound Leave naked yet the limbs of earthly faring : While all around The undraped silences go Selfward, wearing Form's ecstasy. July 1, 1935. Page-133

THE HIGH-FLASHING FOUNTAINS OF SONG [Dedicated to MADAME MILLER of Vienna. Written immediately after hearing her sing some songs of MOZART, CHOPIN and others.'] SUBDUED the light at the gray evenhush, As the shadowy helmets of night's vague-host Make dim the East and the North and the South. Spendthrift day keeps but a dwindling heap of gold Low on the westward margins of the sky. Spirit with wings of light and darkness Sail through the fast-closing gates of the West And bear me out of the world ; The world that is frozen music (but the performers were faulty). Haply the high-flashing fountains of song

TO BOBBY ON THE IDEA OF HIS PICTURE ! SET UP IN SOME SHRINE OF WORSHIP IF on your living features I may gaze, I'll find each moment fresh similitude. Some shifting from a boy's to manhood's ways. Or rippling from a grave to sportive mood. Yet on a pictured surface there is fixed A flashing contact with Eternity, The single point where Time the Pilgrim mixed Dim toilsome path and trend of sanctity. And greatly so when your fair nature prints Vigour and generous love and quiet repose (Much else unseizable the likeness hints To eyes not callous and a heart not blind). .... Tapers of

MAGIC (To Bobby) 'THERE is no need of painted books Or coloured, tales of fairy lore ; What stars are shut in your bright looks, What magic walks upon the floor When your fair feet have passed the door Are you a sun-god in his prime To lure the Spring across the sky ? —How can this be the wonted clime Of heartless earth's inconstancy ? There is a vow upon my lips Not to forget you or to change The passionate liking that so grips My heart or by mis thought derange The not-by-earth-attuned lute Of our companionship. We pass Minutes the high gods shall transmute To gold in my rememb

RINGED WIDE with that last oblivion of self The vague fantastic cloudscape slowly dies Melting to grey monotony of dream, Changing to windless empery of skies Where nothing is immured or isolate. But oneness evens all— So mighty or so small Be they soever, yet must equalize, Ringed by the overshadowing Infinities. August 29, 1936. Page-203

JE N'AI PAS OUBLIE.... (From Baudelaire) IT stays so memory-clear, White house with the city near, A little house where peace abides. Pomona in plaster set, And a Venus older yet; Each in a spindly tree-clump hides Limbs that bear no robe : And evening-splendoured globe Of the sun who streams with level light And—like a living eye Open in watchful sky— Regards our long meal's silent flight Through the window-glass Which breaks the rays that pass And strews a sheaf of glittering beam About the room within In steady pools akin To a tall white candle's gleam ;

QUIETUDE ALL the sky is rife with stars ; Daylight's ebbed and come to naught: Nethering moon -with tilted gars, One gold horn on earth-rim caught. Silence thins the teeming space, High hush treads the huddled earth : Deep they delved the grave of place, Echoed stillness into birth, Bade the white-gold lunar fire Rend the gloom of nether air, Quell each clamour of desire. Drench with Light the shadow lair. June 29, 1936. Page-196

CANAL SUMMIT I LAY upon a hill-slope in the sun And barely had his dipping trend begun : Surely the daytide hours were rife with room Before Night's axe could hurl him to his doom ; These May time clouds far-roaming would have played Before the East up threatened with chill shade. Time, like a drift of airborne foam, Crept on slow wings above dusk's aerodrome, The pilot moment loth to end his flight With grossening sweep from airy leagues of light. Beyond the blur where sky's blue brushed the downs Din's motor-ways, and pylons, link the towns, New griding sorrow slays the joyous hush That

SILVER FLAME WHEN night has risen and foamed to stars Out of the sable pot Rimmed by horizon mysteries And floored with our finite lot, Then as one rising through the dark air. Clinging to the ground no more, I would utterly lose this finite bubble hood Of self and earthly lore And pass to the high serene ethers, Bursting through finite name, To meet, to mingle, be made one with The unborn Silver Flame. October 28, 1936. Page-228

SACHCHIDANANDA O I would find the truth way That leads to Thee From the outward shores of silver To the Ultimate Sea. O I would hear the fire-speech" That echoes Thee And pens in flaming ramparts Each galaxy. O I would rock the infant Born with each world— Feel the fingers of Beauty On my finger curled. July 2,1934. Page-77