Pure Rose   Press the heart-bell, call the power, Silence enters in this hour. Do not break the wisdom-chain With the hammers of the brain. Stilled upon the midnight minute Hold all Timelessness within it.   Pure rose, vibrant with soft love-light, Among the thickets of the night, A jewel-lamp, a sun, a flower, A well of fragrance, spell of power; Source of all the energies That move within life's rolling seas, The myriad forces that unroll The vast white spaces of the soul. Page-148

On the Cross   There's no respite; the riddles loom Around my thought, and fold on fold Thick sins pleat up, till cold, unsouled, I lie within a tomb.   This loneliness that eats men's flesh Has wormed the very life of me; Will you not yet unweave the mesh, Clean me and let me see?   The myriad purities and powers Hang limp, shrink and betray their trust; Sweet innocencies fall like flowers, Unfold their rot and turn to dust.   A night of blind and void desire, Of unforgiven wills and ways, And mockeries of thief and liar, Wraps up my coward heart's delays.   The snake-proud puzzlings twitch and moan,

There is No Question   There is no question; one stark fact remains: What she had promised to do she has done. If men grope blindly, does it mean the sun Illumines not their pathways and their plains? Why! her love's Sun has kissed even the drains Of our desires, has drunk the vapours dun Of guttered falsehood where night's waters run. What hasn't she done? If in our brains and veins The Fire still burns low, it is best we seal Our stupid lips and roll ourselves to sleep... She called the brave with all their faith to leap Into those dangerous depths her heart explored, Daring the unknown darkness to reveal The flame

For the Dead   Those who are dead — the swift and strong, Free riders of the wind, Have gone, as beautiful as song And left their death behind.   Left it to us; and the wild pride Of air which knew their breath. And we must think our earth enskied And lovelier for their death!...   It should be so; yet foolishly We weep that they are gone. They took all Beauty on the sly, All secret battles won.   "Because lives drop like petals, they Can't but be beautiful", Insists the breeze in mock dismay, Preaching its sweeping rule.   Yet it is true, beyond Death's bar We roamed as children roam; They had to

Psyche   Devils may dance their dances As gleefully as gods; The spirit takes its chances, And whirls through mud and clods; Retires and advances Against strange odds.   Over good and bad it quivers With equal joy in play: Over desert sands or rivers, Or stagnant pool or bay: Where heaven or hell delivers A night or day.   Earth's shapes unfurl and render Their homage to its grace; The skies unveil their splendour Before its beauteous face; And hell turns sweet and tender Beneath rhythms of its pace.   Where through the ages flying The Karmic cycle turns, Within the storm's dark crying, The si

At Dawn   At dawn the winds of pureness Come in with never a sound, With only a clear blue gleaming, Crystal from the far Profound... To shut in the thoughts with stillness, To keep the vast air thin, And with the power of Silence awaken The slumbering depths within; The streams dance down for gladness Through the rose-scent and the fern, The lights dance down the angled glass, In rays that paint and burn, — Focussed back to the enduring whiteness   Whence the things of peace return: The seal of an ancient sky-priest, A brand on the forehead of earth, Promising a far fulfilment, Proving her noble birth; The fir

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