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- AE in the Irish Theosophist - 10/53 -


Seeking familiar lips or hearts to dream beside. Oh, voices, I would go with you, with you, away, Facing once more the radiant gateways of the day; With you, with you, what memories arise, and nigh Trampling the crowded figures of the dawn go by; Dread deities, the giant powers that warred on men Grow tender brothers and gay children once again; Fades every hate away before the Mother's breast Where all the exiles of the heart return to rest.

--July 15, 1895

In the Womb

Still rests the heavy share on the dark soil: Upon the dull black mould the dew-damp lies: The horse waits patient: from his lonely toil The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes.

The unbudding hedgerows, dark against day's fires, Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim Over the unregarding city's spires The lonely beauty shines alone for him.

And day by day the dawn or dark enfolds, And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see How in her womb the Mighty Mother moulds The infant spirit for Eternity.

--January 15, 1895

In the Garden of God

Within the iron cities One walked unknown for years, In his heart the pity of pities That grew for human tears

When love and grief were ended The flower of pity grew; By unseen hands 'twas tended And fed with holy dew.

Though in his heart were barred in The blooms of beauty blown; Yet he who grew the garden Could call no flower his own.

For by the hands that watered, The blooms that opened fair Through frost and pain were scattered To sweeten the dull air.

--February 15, 1895

The Breath of Light

From the cool and dark-lipped furrows breathes a dim delight Aureoles of joy encircle every blade of grass Where the dew-fed creatures silent and enraptured pass: And the restless ploughman pauses, turns, and wondering Deep beneath his rustic habit finds himself a king; For a fiery moment looking with the eyes of God Over fields a slave at morning bowed him to the sod. Blind and dense with revelation every moment flies, And unto the Mighty Mother gay, eternal, rise All the hopes we hold, the gladness, dreams of things to be. One of all they generations, Mother, hails to thee! Hail! and hail! and hail for ever: though I turn again For they joy unto the human vestures of pain. I, thy child, who went forth radiant in the golden prime Find thee still the mother-hearted through my night in time; Find in thee the old enchantment, there behind the veil Where the Gods my brothers linger, Hail! for ever, Hail!

--May 15, 1895

The Free

They bathed in the fire-flooded fountains; Life girdled them round and about; They slept in the clefts of the mountains: The stars called them forth with a shout.

They prayed, but their worship was only The wonder at nights and at days, As still as the lips of the lonely Though burning with dumbness of praise.

No sadness of earth ever captured Their spirits who bowed at the shrine; They fled to the Lonely enraptured And hid in the Darkness Divine.

At twilight as children may gather They met at the doorway of death, The smile of the dark hidden Father The Mother with magical breath.

Untold of in song or in story, In days long forgotten of men, Their eyes were yet blind with a glory Time will not remember again.

--November 15, 1895

Songs of Olden Magic--IV

The Magi

"The mountain was filled with the hosts of the Tuatha de Dannan." --Old Celtic Poem

See where the auras from the olden fountain Starward aspire; The sacred sign upon the holy mountain Shines in white fire: Waving and flaming yonder o'er the snows The diamond light Melts into silver or to sapphire glows Night beyond night; And from the heaven of heavens descends on earth A dew divine. Come, let us mingle in the starry mirth Around the shrine! Enchantress, mighty mother, to our home In thee we press, Thrilled by the fiery breath and wrapt in some Vast tenderness The homeward birds uncertain o'er their nest Wheel in the dome, Fraught with dim dreams of more enraptured rest, Wheel in the dome, But gather ye to whose undarkened eyes The night is day: Leap forth, Immortals, Birds of Paradise, In bright array Robed like the shining tresses of the sun; And by his name Call from his haunt divine the ancient one Our Father Flame. Aye, from the wonder-light that wraps the star, Come now, come now; Sun-breathing Dragon, ray thy lights afar, Thy children bow; Hush with more awe the breath; the bright-browed races Are nothing worth By those dread gods from out whose awful faces The earth looks forth Infinite pity, set in calm; their vision cast Adown the years Beholds how beauty burns away at last Their children's tears. Now while our hearts the ancient quietness Floods with its tide, The things of air and fire and height no less In it abide; And from their wanderings over sea and shore


AE in the Irish Theosophist - 10/53

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