Primal swirl of the Chaos, out of your nebulous Night Eddied the primal tides, as the Mind of God decreed, And the Word of the ultimate Source spake forth "Let there be Light," And all the Firmament blazed with the dust of the star-sown seed.
Strong and stately and splendid, thronging the limitless spaces. Ye are the silver signs to a House not made with hands; Ye are the Mystic Scroll, where the Mighty Maker traces Thoughts that the passionate poet dimly understands.
Day, with its drouth and drosses, shrivels our fragile souls, And, witched with its transient gauds, to the perilous earth we cling, But ever the tender night its infinite page unrolls, And the star-led mind aspires to the Throne of the star-robed King.
THE OLD KNIGHT'S SONG
My lady lives afar in the fair white tower Hid, like a nest, high among branches swaying. "Peaceful thoughts be her portion, dreams her dower," Here am I on my knees, praying.
To the Winds of the World from the hills and the sea far blowing, That they carry their strength to her heart for sorrow's staying, That they bring clear hopes and the gladness of freedom flowing, Here am I on my knees, praying.
To the Lamp of Day, that the aureate beauty breaking Find answering smiles in her eyes for the fair displaying Of colour of gold on the way my Lady is taking, Here am I on my knees, praying.
To the sentinel Stars through the infinite spaces sweeping, Guarding the night, and terrors of darkness slaying, That they bring sweet Peace to the dreams of my Lady sleeping, Here am I, on my knees praying.