11
Though the falcon of the brain Yearneth on the wing to be, Archers in this desert plain Wait upon him secretly!
Yet the tied and twisted cord Lacketh not for remedy: Singing can the cure afford Of this hard perplexity.
If the power of speech be there, Yet is knowledge not possessed; Hapless servant, who doth bear Such a secret in his breast!
Though a hundred varied ways They should burn and ravage me, There is comfort in my blaze And a glad felicity.
Dust, and dead as dust, are we, Yet a heart we merited: Lo! the living deity Heart engendered in the dead.
In my breast there is a flame Setteth all the house aglow, Yet it is the very same That the house doth overthrow.
Plato’s mind the world described, Yet I will not trust in it, For a heart is in my side Bold to view the infinite.
12
What is the world? The temple of my thought, The seen projection of my wakeful eye;
Its far horizons, instant to espy, A circle by my spinning compass wrought.
As I behold, or not, is aught, or naught; Time, space, within my mind audacious lie,
Movement, repose, are my heart’s wizardry Whereby are secrets known, and mysteries taught.
That other world, where reaped is all our sown, Its light and fire are of my rosary made;
I am fate’s instrument, whose antiphon Responds to every string thought ever played,
Where is Thy sign? In Thee my life is stayed; Where is Thy world? These twain are mine alone.
13
It is the season of the spring And nightingales are carolling; O smile on me, and chant a song, And freely pass the wine along.
Behold the tears that I have shed, Then on Thy beauty turn Thy head; O set my heart of reeds afire With the swift lightning of desire.
And bid the breeze of spring, I pray, Unto my fancy take its way And paint the valley and the plain With beauteous images again.
Flower in the mead that blossometh, Receive new freshness from my breath; Amid Thy bower, since I was born, I lived beside the rose and thorn.
On my heart’s touchstone then assay This world of water and of clay; My heart shall prove a mirror bright Reflecting all Thy shade and light.
Thou ’st never gambled with Thy heart, Nor of the world had any part; When in Thy presence I would be, What day of reckoning I see!
The aged ringdovc in the glade Hearkened to my lament, and said, ‘No songbird ever carolled here So sweet an air of yesterday.’
14
From life and being’s twisted skein Let me be free; In resignation is to gain True liberty.
Love quivered, and within this field Of barren spring Sprinkled a thousand seeds, to yield My harvesting.
Indeed I know not what His glance Viewed in my clay Upon the stone of time and chance Me to assay.
With stubble and with straw He came A world to found, Then gave to me a heart of flame To prove me sound.
O take the goblet from my hand, For hope is past; The saki played at glances, and My heart was lost.
15
Rise! and upon the thirsty land Sprinkle life’s wine with lavish hand; Kindle anew the spirit’s fire, And bid the flame in us expire.
The tavern wine is drained and gone, The drinkers find oblivion; The school re echoes to the shout, And every lamp has flickered out.
Reason’s a knot resolving slave, Faith mid convention’s laid to grave, For in the breast there beats a heart, The unseen target of love’s dart,
Both are in quest of one abode And both would lead upon the road: Reason tries every stratagem, But love pulls gently by the hem.
Love to the dust ruin hurled The tabernacle of the world, And stretches high his fingers, even Unto the canopy of heaven.