The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite in two volumes ... With a Portrait |
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TALISMANIC MAGIC |
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 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
309
IX
TALISMANIC MAGIC
Heart's truth, the moon above a hidden sea—
Above those silent waters, merged in mist—
Uplifts the splendour of her perfect disc,
With hay-time halo ring'd, and fills the sky
With golden glamour . . . Turn thy speaking eyes . . .
When on some lofty ridge, which faces North,
The wind-tide beats about us—cool and fresh,
New life infusing—there some psychic grace
Expands my faculties: the length and breadth,
The glory and resources of this world,
I realise. But when with patient, fond,
Discerning thoughts I gaze—dream-spell'd—on thee,
Thy nature's possibilities unfold,
As with resplendent blossoms all adorn'd
In everlasting May-time of the mind.
Above those silent waters, merged in mist—
Uplifts the splendour of her perfect disc,
With hay-time halo ring'd, and fills the sky
With golden glamour . . . Turn thy speaking eyes . . .
When on some lofty ridge, which faces North,
The wind-tide beats about us—cool and fresh,
New life infusing—there some psychic grace
Expands my faculties: the length and breadth,
The glory and resources of this world,
I realise. But when with patient, fond,
Discerning thoughts I gaze—dream-spell'd—on thee,
Thy nature's possibilities unfold,
As with resplendent blossoms all adorn'd
In everlasting May-time of the mind.
So God be praised, Who made thy gentle soul,
And under sacramental veils abides
Within thy nature's inmost sanctuary;
Bless'd all the stars that shape thy future ways;
Bless'd all who love thee and are loved by thee!
Be thy true lover in thy beauty bless'd—
His heart's ideal taking shape in thee,
In thee attain'd.
And under sacramental veils abides
Within thy nature's inmost sanctuary;
Bless'd all the stars that shape thy future ways;
Bless'd all who love thee and are loved by thee!
Be thy true lover in thy beauty bless'd—
His heart's ideal taking shape in thee,
In thee attain'd.
The Daughter of the Voice—
Bath-kol, the mystic Daughter of the Voice—
Makes answer through the infinite: Amen.
Bath-kol, the mystic Daughter of the Voice—
Makes answer through the infinite: Amen.
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |