The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | ||
XLIV
ITE, MISSA EST
It does not really signify that the way is long, if it is that which leads home.
Stars of Empire
From East to West the soul her journey takes,At many bitter founts her fever slakes,
Halts at strange taverns by the way to feast,
Resumes her load and painful progress makes
Back to the East.
Many travels and many metamorphoses may still remain, both within and without the long chronicles of vanity. It is only by a title of limitation that the Mass is said to be finished.
The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | ||