I dreamt of slow-dancing
and we waltzed until I woke
Hazy scent of desires unspoke
I, mangled with your absence,
breathe a mere thought of
reality's biting grip and rip
the blanket from my bones
Naked and exposed, more
vulnerable and assured
than ever to disclose
those tender tickles
I feel when in repose,
visceral and verbose
I spew black for it's
pronounced and bold
amplifying the dark hold
melted to my frame
Bursting free, finally
with a pounding chest,
primary shades to express,
and fear tentatively at rest
Your hand in mine gives
a soft and slow caress
and I exhale our dance
of coalesce.

Tell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit,
      Thou who Master art of it.
For the First matter loves Variety less;
Less Women love’t, either in Love or Dress.
      A thousand different shapes it bears,
      Comely in thousand shapes appears.
Yonder we saw it plain; and here ’tis now,
Like Spirits in a Place, we know not How.

London that vents of false Ware so much store,
      In no Ware deceives us more.
For men led by the Colour, and the Shape,
Like Zeuxes Birds fly to the painted Grape;
      Some things do through our Judgment pass
      As through a Multiplying Glass.
And sometimes, if the Object be too far,
We take a Falling Meteor for a Star.

Hence ’tis a Wit that greatest word of Fame
      Grows such a common Name.
And Wits by our Creation they become,
Just so, as ***’lar Bishops made at Rome.
      ’Tis not a Tale, ’tis not a Jest
      Admir’d with Laughter at a feast,
Nor florid Talk which can that Title gain;
The Proofs of Wit for ever must remain.

’Tis not to force some lifeless Verses meet
      With their five gowty feet.
All ev’ry where, like Mans, must be the Soul,
And Reason the Inferior Powers controul.
      Such were the Numbers which could call
      The Stones into the Theban wall.
Such Miracles are ceast; and now we see
No Towns or Houses rais’d by Poetrie.

Yet ’tis not to adorn, and gild each part;
      That shows more Cost, then Art.
Jewels at Nose and Lips but ill appear;
Rather then all things Wit, let none be there.
      Several Lights will not be seen,
      If there be nothing else between.
Men doubt, because they stand so thick i’th’ skie,
If those be Stars which paint the Galaxie.

’Tis not when two like words make up one noise;
      Jests for Dutch Men, and English Boys.
In which who finds out Wit, the same may see
In An’grams and Acrostiques Poetrie.
      Much less can that have any place
      At which a ****** hides her face,
Such Dross the Fire must purge away; ’tis just
The Author Blush, there where the Reader must.

’Tis not such Lines as almost crack the Stage
      When Bajazet begins to rage.
Nor a tall Meta’phor in the Bombast way,
Nor the dry chips of short lung’d Seneca.
      Nor upon all things to obtrude,
      And force some odd Similitude.
What is it then, which like the Power Divine
We only can by Negatives define?

In a true piece of Wit all things must be,
      Yet all things there agree.
As in the Ark, joyn’d without force or strife,
All Creatures dwelt; all Creatures that had Life.
      Or as the Primitive Forms of all
      (If we compare great things with small)
Which without Discord or Confusion lie,
In that strange Mirror of the Deitie.

But Love that moulds One Man up out of Two,
      Makes me forget and injure you.
I took you for my self sure when I thought
That you in any thing were to be Taught.
      Correct my error with thy Pen;
      And if any ask me then,
What thing right Wit, and height of Genius is,
I’ll onely shew your Lines, and say, ’Tis This.

I broke my knuckles and hands on those who raised their hands in disrespect,
Towards
you,

For you I've monsooned enough tears to fertilize dry lands so that you may prosper.

Because of you,

I may become the man both of you have waited so patiently for I to be.

For I to become.

There never was a face as fair as yours,
A heart as true, a love as pure and keen.
These things endure, if anything endures.
But, in this jungle, what high heaven immures
Us in its silence, the supreme serene
Crowning the dagoba, what destined die
Rings on the table, what resistless dart
Strike me I love you; can you satisfy
The hunger of my heart!

Nay; not in love, or faith, or hope is hidden
The drug that heals my life; I know too well
How all things lawful, and all things forbidden
Alike disclose no pearl upon the midden,
Offer no key to unlock the gate of Hell.
There is no escape from the eternal round,
No hope in love, or victory, or art.
There is no plumb-line long enough to sound
The abysses of my heart!


There no dawn breaks; no sunlight penetrates
Its blackness; no moon shines, nor any star.
For its own horror of itself creates
Malignant fate from all benignant fates,
Of its own spite drives its own angel afar.
Nay; this is the great import of the curse
That the whole world is sick, and not a part.
Conterminous with its own universe
the horror of my heart!

To-night I tread the unsubstantial way
That looms before me, as the thundering night
Falls on the ocean: I must stop, and pray
One little prayer, and then - what bitter fight
Flames at the end beyond the darkling goal?
These are my passions that my feet must read;
This is my sword, the fervour of my soul;
This is my Will, the crown upon my head.
For see! the darkness beckons: I have gone,
Before this terrible hour, towards the gloom,
Braved the wild dragon, called the tiger on
With whirling cries of pride, sought out the tomb
Where lurking vampires battened, and my steel
Has wrought its splendour through the gates of death
My courage did not falter: now I feel
My heart beat wave-wise, and my throat catch breath
As if I choked; some horror creeps between
The spirit of my will and its desire,
Some just reluctance to the Great Unseen
That coils its nameless terrors, and its dire
Fear round my heart; a devil cold as ice
Breathes somewhere, for I feel his shudder take
My veins: some deadlier asp or cockatrice
Slimes in my senses: I am half awake,
Half automatic, as I move along
Wrapped in a cloud of blackness deep as hell,
Hearing afar some half-forgotten song
As of disruption; yet strange glories dwell
Above my head, as if a sword of light,
Rayed of the very Dawn, would strike within
The limitations of this deadly night
That folds me for the sign of death and sin -
O Light! descend! My feet move vaguely on
In this amazing darkness, in the gloom
That I can touch with trembling sense. There shone
Once, in my misty memory, in the womb
Of some unformulated thought, the flame
And smoke of mighty pillars; yet my mind
Is clouded with the horror of this same
Path of the wise men: for my soul is blind
Yet: and the foemen I have never feared
I could not see (if such should cross the way),
And therefore I am strange: my soul is seared
With desolation of the blinding day
I have come out from: yes, that fearful light
Was not the Sun: my life has been the death,
This death may be the life: my spirit sight
Knows that at last, at least. My doubtful breath
Is breathing in a nobler air; I know,
I know it in my soul, despite of this,
The clinging darkness of the Long Ago,
Cruel as death, and closer than a kiss,
This horror of great darkness. I am come
Into this darkness to attain the light:
To gain my voice I make myself as dumb:
That I may see I close my outer sight:
So, I am here. My brows are bent in prayer:
I kneel already in the Gates of Dawn;
And I am come, albeit unaware,
To the deep sanctuary: my hope is drawn
From wells profounder than the very sea.
Yea, I am come, where least I guessed it so,
Into the very Presence of the Three
That Are beyond all Gods. And now I know
What spiritual Light is drawing me
Up to its stooping splendour. In my soul
I feel the Spring, the all-devouring Dawn,
Rush with my Rising. There, beyond the goal,
The Veil is rent!

Yes: let the veil be drawn.

Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
Heat & hate of Sirius-
Shun his baneful brilliance!

Let us dance beneath the palm
Moving in the moonlight, frond
Wooing frond above the calm
Of the ocean diamond
Sparkling to the sky beyond
The enchantment of our psalm.

Let us dance, my mirror of
Perfect passion won to peace,
Let us dance, my treasure trove,
On the marble terraces
Carved in pallid embroeideries
For the vestal veil of Love.

Heaven awakes to encompass us,
Hell awakes its jubilance
In our hearts mysterious
Marriage of the azure expanse,
With the scarlet brilliance
Of the Moon with Sirius.

Velvet swatches our lissome limbs
Languid lapped by sky & sea
Soul through sense & spirit swims
Through the pregnant porphyry
Dome of lapiz-lazuli:-
Heart of silence, hush our hymns.

Come my darling; let us dance
Through the golden galaxies
Rhythmic swell of circumstance
Beaming passion’s argosies:
Ecstacy entwined with ease,
Terrene joy transcending trance!

Thou my scarlet concubine
Draining heart’s blood to the lees
To empurple those divine
Lips with living luxuries
Life importunate to appease
Drought insatiable of wine!

Tunis in the tremendous trance
Rests from day’s incestuous
Traffic with the radiance
Of her sire-& over us
Gleams the intoxicating glance
Of the Moon & Sirius.

Take the ardour of my impearled
Essence that my shoulders seek
To intensify the curled
Candour of the eyes oblique,
Eyes that see the seraphic sleek
Lust bewitch the wanton world.

Come, my love, my dove, & pour
From thy cup the serpent wine
Brimmed & breathless -secret store
Of my crimson concubine
Surfeit spirit in the shrine-
Devil -Goddess -****** -*****.

Afric sands ensorcel us,
Afric seas & skies entrance
Velvet, lewd & luminous
Night surveys our soul askance!
Come my love, & let us dance
To the Moon and Sirius!

A part, immutable, unseen,
Being, before itself had been,
Became. Like dew a triple queen
Shone as the void uncovered:
The silence of deep height was drawn
A veil across the silver dawn
On holy wings that hovered.

The music of three thoughts became
The beauty, that is one white flame,
The justice that surpasses shame,
The victory, the splendour,
The sacred fountain that is whirled
From depths beyond that older world
A new world to engender.

The kingdom is extended. Night
Dwells, and I contemplate the sight
That is not seeing, but the light
That secretly is kindled,
Though oft-time its most holy fire
Lacks oil, whene'er my own Desire
Before desire has dwindled.

I see the thin web binding me
With thirteen cords of unity
Toward the calm centre of the sea.
(O thou supernal mother!)
The triple light my path divides
To twain and fifty sudden sides
Each perfect as each other.

Now backwards, inwards still my mind
Must track the intangible and blind,
And seeking, shall securely find
Hidden in secret places
Fresh feasts for every soul that strives,
New life for many mystic lives,
And strange new forms and faces.

My mind still searches, and attains
By many days and many pains
To That which Is and Was and reigns
Shadowed in four and ten;
And loses self in sacred lands,
And cries and quickens, and understands
Beyond the first Amen.