Читать книгу The Rosary of Pan - Alexander Maitland Stephen - Страница 9

Table of Contents

THE velvet magic of your lips’ caress

Awoke the Self encased in soul and ran

Through throbbing veins, pouring their wine to bless

The golden gift that makes a god of man.

In that supernal moment, golden, rare,

A blossom on the thorny stem of Time,

The veil was lifted, leaving written there

Before my eyes, the cosmic truth, sublime,

That Power and Love, twin-flames that twine

And bind the broken circle of the years,

Are One, forever, in the plan Divine,

Blending eternally our hopes and fears.

The bitter hours, the loneliness, the pain,

The soul’s dark night, when on the mundane cross

Of matter broken, mortal strength seems vain

To purge the spirit’s gold of earthly dross;

All these and more, transmuted, are the power

To scale the heights and wrest the sacred fire

Prometheus stole from heaven, for an hour

Immortal,—crown of all our heart’s desire.

’Twas not the Love, self-slain, bathed in tears

Of blood, that hung on Calvary’s high hill;

Not sweat of slaves or fruit of cringing fears,

Too weak for speech nor strong enough to kill.

Pure as the radiant breath of primal dawn

When Love first blossomed and brought forth a world;

Strong as the warring hosts from heaven withdrawn

And proud as they from high Olympus hurled,

This Love is Power, akashic, fiery force

Whose rose-gold flame wreathes round Creation’s rim

The circle of infinity—its course

Divine, omnipotent, till stars grow dim.