re but gods holding a world and held by it,
Fates that sound the trumpets
Whilst the breath and the musie from beyond.
And I rebel.
I would exhaust myself to emptiness.
I would dissolve myself afar from your vision,
And from the memory of this silent youth, our younger brother,
Who sits beside us gazing into yonder valley,
And though his lips move, utters not a word.
Third God
I speak, my unheeding brothers,
I do indeed speak,
But you hear only your own words.
I bid you see ylory and mine,
But you turn, and close your eyes,
And rock your thrones.
Ye sns who would govern the above world and the world beh,
God self-bent, whose yesterday is ever jealous of your tomorrow,
Self-weary, who would unleash your temper with speech
And lash our orb with thunderings!
Your feud is but the sounding of an A Lyre
Whose strings have been half fotten by His fingers
Who has Orion for a harp and the Pleiades for cymbals.
Even now, while you are muttering and rumbling,
His harp rings, His cymbals clash,
And I beseech you hear his song.
Behold, man and woman,
Flame to flame,
In white ecstacy.
Roots that suck at the breast of purple earth,
Flame flowers at the breasts of the sky.
And we are the purple breast,
And we are the enduring sky.
Our soul, even the soul of life, your soul and mine,
Dwells this night in a throat enflamed,
And garments the body of a girl with beating waves.
Your sceptre ot sway this destiny,
Your weariness is but ambition.
This and all is wiped away
In the passion of a man and a maid.
Sed God
Yea, what of this love of man and woman?
See how the east wind dances with her dang feet,
And the west wind rises singing with his song.
Behold our sacred purpose hroned,
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