Not the hissing hair, nor flakes of blood that oozed from eyes of
fire,
Nor the snort of savage sleep that snuffed the hungering heart's
desire
Where the hunted prey found hardly space and harbour to respire;
She whose likeness called them--"Sleep ye, ho? what need of you
that sleep?"
(Ah, what need indeed, where she was, of all shapes that night may
keep
Hidden dark as death and deeper than men's dreams of hell are
deep?)
She the murderess of her husband, she the huntress of her son,
More than ye was she, the shadow that no God withstands but one,
Wisdom equal-eyed and stronger and more splendid than the sun.
Yea, no God may stand betwixt us and the shadows of our deeds,
Nor the light of dreams that lighten darkness, nor the prayer that
pleads,
But the wisdom equal-souled with heaven, the light alone that
leads.
Light whose law bids home those childless children of eternal
night,
Soothed and reconciled and mastered and transmuted in men's sight
Who behold their own souls, clothed with darkness once, now clothed
with light.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25