Upon their cold breasts of stone the dust of ruined worlds lies as a garment. Windless it lies as it falls or rises out of Chaos that encompasses all.

The Spirit of Creation moves grandly through the deeps. In her hands she bears Fire and Light, on her lips her all-conquering command. She flings dead worlds among the dead, as a sower his seed or a slinger his stones.

A spark is lit in the vast obscure. A glory, a rose of fire, blooms in the pit of darkness. It is now a glowing mist with far-spread vans, a phoenix wrought of flame.

The cloud gathers about it its flowing veils and swarming foam of Fire. It winds them around its white effulgent heart. The sundered flakes of crimson twist and turn, they shrink, yet do not flee.

Out of the blazing mists a new-born Sun shapes forth his awful splendour. His worlds divest themselves of robes and wings, shining in beauty white and pure.

The dead are born again and the stars rejoice in light.

From the molten orbs there comes a murmur, a fresh music to mingle with the Sun's.

The words of the Spirit of Creation swell in a harmonious storm, they mould the worlds as with hands, they sweep the plumbless spaces as with a besom of winds.

 

 

 

 

 SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF CREATION

LET orb be wedded unto orb!--let light Engender in the wombs of fiery clouds In flashing spirals scarring the dead Night, With tongues of argent fire and crimson shrouds. You bear the seed of Worlds; from you shall spring A Universe through roaring cycles spun Round him whose bulk enormous crowns him king And master of all vassal orbs, the Sun! You golden worlds or white, you gelid Moons, Each in your mountant orbit king or queen, In midnights plunged or soaring in your noons, Accoutred in glory male, or virgin sheen, Awake! awake! the dark unbars her gate! Burst forth like gems from Death's titanic tomb! 

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