LITMIR.BIZ

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See you so? your senses drift;

      ​

      'Tis a shuttle weaving swift.

       Look with spirit past the sense,

       Spirit shines in permanence.

       That is She, the view of whom

       Is the dust within the tomb,

       Is the inner blush above,

       Look to loathe, or look to love;

       Think her Lump, or know her Flame;

       Dread her scourge, or read her aim;

       Shoot your hungers from their nerve;

       Or, in her example, serve.

       Some have found her sitting grave;

       Laughing, some; or, browed with sweat,

       Hurling dust of fool and knave

       In a hissing smithy's jet.

       More it were not well to speak;

       Burn to see, you need but seek.

       Once beheld she gives the key

       Airing every doorway, she.

      ​

      Little can you stop or steer

       Ere of her you are the sëer.

       On the surface she will witch,

       Rendering Beauty yours, but gaze

       Under, and the soul is rich

       Past computing, past amaze.

       Then is courage that endures

       Even her awful tremble yours.

       Then, the reflex of that Fount

       Spied below, with Reason mount

       Lordly and a quenchless force,

       Lighting Pain to its mad source,

       Scaring Fear till Fear escapes,

       Shot through all its phantom shapes.

       Then your spirit will perceive

       Fleshly seed of fleshly sins;

       Where the passions interweave,

       How the serpent tangle spins

       Of the sense of Earth misprised,

      ​

      Brainlessly unrecognised;

       She being Spirit in her clods,

       Footway to the God of Gods.

       Then for you are pleasures pure,

       Sureties as the stars are sure:

       Not the wanton beckoning flags

       Which, of flattery and delight,

       Wax to the grim Habit-Hags

       Riding souls of men to night:

       Pleasures that through blood run sane,

       Quickening spirit from the brain.

       Each of each in sequent birth,

       Blood and brain and spirit, three

       (Say the deepest gnomes of Earth),

       Join for true felicity.

       Are they parted, then expect

       Some one sailing will be wrecked:

       Separate hunting are they sped,

       Scan the morsel coveted.

      ​

      Earth that Triad is: she hides

       Joy from him who that divides;

       Showers it when the three are one

       Glassing her in union.

       Earth your haven, Earth your helm,

       You command a double realm;

       Labouring here to pay your debt,

       Till your little sun shall set;

       Leaving her the future task:

       Loving her too well to ask.

       Eglantine that climbs the yew,

       She her darkest wreathes for those

       Knowing her the Ever-new,

       And themselves the kin o' the rose.

       Life, the chisel, axe and sword,

       Wield who have her depths explored:

       Life, the dream, shall be their robe,

       Large as air about the globe;

       Life, the question, hear its cry

      ​

      Echoed with concordant Why;

       Life, the small self-dragon ramped,

       Thrill for service to be stamped.

       Ay, and over every height

       Life for them shall wave a wand:

       That, the last, where sits affright,

       Homely shows the stream beyond.

       Love the light and be its lynx,

       You will track her and attain;

       Read her as no cruel Sphinx

       In the woods of Westermain.

       Daily fresh the woods are ranged;

       Glooms which otherwhere appal,

       Sounded: here, their worths exchanged,

       Urban joins with pastoral:

       Little lost, save what may drop

       Husk-like, and the mind preserves.

       Natural overgrowths they lop,

       Yet from nature neither swerves,

      ​

      Trained or savage: for this cause:

       Of our Earth they ply the laws,

       Have in Earth their feeding root,

       Mind of man and bent of brute.

       Hear that song; both wild and ruled.

       Hear it: is it wail or mirth?

       Ordered, bubbled, quite unschooled?

       None, and all: it springs of Earth.

       O but hear it! 'tis the mind;

       Mind that with deep Earth unites,

       Round the solid trunk to wind

       Rings of clasping parasites.

       Music have you there to feed

       Simplest and most soaring need.

       Free to wind, and in desire

       Winding, they to her attached

       Feel the trunk a spring of fire,

       And ascend to heights unmatched,

       Whence the tidal world is viewed

      ​

      As a sea of windy wheat,

       Momently black, barren, rude;

       Golden-brown, for harvest meet,

       Dragon-reaped from folly-sown;

       Bride-like to the sickle-blade:

       Quick it varies, while the moan,

       Moan of a sad creature strayed,

       Chiefly is its voice. So flesh

       Conjures tempest-flails to thresh

       Good from worthless. Some clear lamps

       Light it; more of dead marsh-damps.

       Monster is it still, and blind,

      

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