SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF CHAOS

DARKNESS, unconquered Darkness, spread thy tent, Silence, build up thy co-eternal wall. Death, who art silent and dark, this firmament Is thine, these withered worlds--Oh, take them all! Pearls dead and lustreless, float back to Death,--  You from the sun-dust born and starry spray, Life set you free and warmed you with his breath A day, and Night hath fallen on that day. Float back to Death, pearls dead and lustreless, So he may sow you on the stormy streams That wander unto aweful wars and press Onward their throneless orbs that know no beams,-- Blind sepulchres that hold within their stones Ashes that sang and dust that shone with thought. Though suns on suns emergent dash your zones With lustre-floods,--no wonder shall be wrought, Till out of ruins of transmuting strife With sister globes that weld the eternal chain, You win alternate Life and Death and Life Again . . . and again . . . and again . . .

The voice of the Spirit passes away into Immensity.

Darkness and Silence in Immanence.

The unheard rhythmical suspiration of the Universe.

Peace.

 

 

 

 

RE-BIRTH

The vacant room of stars is flooded with a presence.

The tides of Life pulsate with the prophecy of Birth.

Now it is the Song of the Spirit of Creation that is heard on high above the perished Solar Universe.

The dead worlds are hidden in the lap of Night, sightless, forlorn wanderers. They move in darkness, unseeing and unseen, though smitten by the rays of living stars.

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