Song-Surf

About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door where in I went."

"The doors of Argument may lead Nowhither,
Reason become a Prison where may wither
From sunless eyes the Infinite, from hearts
All Hope, when their sojourn too long is thither."

"Up from Earth's Centre thro' the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the throne of Saturn sate,
And many a Knot unravelled by the Road —
But not the Master-knot of Human fate."

"The Master-knot knows but the Master-hand
That scattered Saturn and his countless Band
Like seeds upon the unplanted heaven's Air:
The Truth we reap from them is Chaff thrice fanned."

"Yet if the Soul can fling the Dust aside
And naked on the air of Heaven ride,
Wer't not a shame – wer't not a shame for him
In this clay carcase crippled to abide?"

"No, for a day bound in this Dust may teach
More of the Sáki's Mind than we can reach
Through æons mounting still from Sky to Sky —
May open through all Mystery a breach."

"You speak as if Existence closing your
Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
The Eternal Sáki from that Bowl has poured
Millions of bubbles like us, and will pour."

"Bubbles we are, pricked by the point of Death.
But, in each bubble, may there be no Breath
That lifts it and at last to Freedom flies,
And o'er all heights of Heaven wandereth?"

"A moment's halt – a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste —
And Lo – the phantom Caravan has reached
The Nothing it set out from – Oh, make haste!"

"And yet it should be – it should be that we
Who drink shall drink of Immortality.
The Master of the Well has much to spare:
Will He say, 'Taste' – then shall we no more be?"

"The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it."

"And were it other, might we not erase
The Letter of some Sorrow in whose place
No truer sounding, we should fail to spell
The Heart which yearns behind the mock-world's Face?"

"Well, this I know; whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me, quite,
One flash of it within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright."

"In Temple or in Tavern 't may be lost.
And everywhere that Love hath any Cost
It may be found; the Wrath it seems is but
A Cloud whose Dew should make its power most."

"But see His Presence thro' Creation's veins
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi; and
They change and perish all – but He remains."

"All – it may be. Yet lie to sleep, and lo,
The soul seems quenched in Darkness – is it so?
Rather believe what seemeth not than seems
Of Death – until we know —until we know."

"So wastes the Hour – gone in the vain pursuit
Of This and That we strive o'er and dispute.
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit."

"Better – unless we hope that grief is thrown
Across our Path by urgence of the Unknown,
Lest we may think we have no more to live
And bide content with dim-lit Earth alone."

"Then, strange, is't not? that of the myriads who
Before us passed the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too?"

"Such is the Ban! but even though we heard
Love in Life's All we still should crave the word
Of one returned. Yet none is sure, we know,
Though they lie deep, they are by Death deterred."

"Send then thy Soul through the Invisible
Some letter of the After-life to spell: