Читать книгу The Rosary of Pan - Alexander Maitland Stephen - Страница 6
Woman
ОглавлениеTHIS want of you is like no other thing.
It hammers at my heart the whole night through.
It smites my soul with sudden sickening,
As primal pain that birth begins anew—
This want of you.
’Tis Trishna—thirst of life in form to dwell,
To touch, to taste, to smell, to hear, to view
This mother veil of matter, wrought so well
And cunningly to make the false seem true—
For want of you.
Before the gods or worlds it was. As Space,
Parent invisible of forms, it threw
Its vast illusion over all Creation’s face.
The heart of Being broke—the One made Two,
For want of you.
The tide of life that ever godward flows
Was forced to grope and hunger through
The rock, the plant, the beast and then it rose
To man. Who more than dust-born Adam knew
This want of you?
In Eve and Lilith’s lure, your sweet embrace
Was still the Spirit’s veil that softly drew
Its primal beauty o’er the Pilgrim’s face.
In Eden, Death was born to bring anew
This want of you.
The witchery of moonlit nights, soft summer skies,
Young birds in spring, sunlight or wind or dew;
All of earth, air or water or the fire that flies
Like serpents’ tongues, eternally renew
This want of you.
From Thee we come and back to Thee we go
To rest and dream a little and undo
The tangled patterns of our lives that grow
Beyond our strength to mend or make anew—
Thro’ want of you.
O Mother Substance—soul and sense, in fine,
Of God’s own thought, whence stars and atoms grew,
We call Thee Earth or Woman. Why not divine?
Has God forgotten that He always knew
This want of you?
