Now let the black tops of the pine-trees break like a spent wave, Against the grey sky: These are tombs and memorials and temples and altars sun-kindled for me.
GOLDEN SYMPHONY
I
Seen from afar, the city To-day is like a golden cloud: Strayed from the sky and moulded Into dim motionless towers.
Music is pa.s.sing far off: Music serenely Is climbing up and vanishing On the long grey stairways of the sky, In fanlike rays of light.
Now it falls slowly, Careering, toppling, Shivering and quivering like burnished gla.s.s or laburnum-blossom, Golden cascades.
Peace: now let the music Sound from further away, Red bells out of memory"s Blue dream of regret.
Seen from afar, the city To-day is like a fleet of sails: Breaking the foam of dark forests, In which I have strayed so long.
They march together slowly, The golden temple terraces, Against the dark remembrance Of my pools of despair.
O golden angelus that sounded prolonging uncertain memories, I have seen the swallows hovering to you and followed their dark trails of pa.s.sage.
The gates of the city lie open, And the whole world goes homeward, Full-pulsing bells in the foreground, Catching my soul with them On where the sun soars broadly through the incense-dome of the sky.
II
High chimes from the belfry; The noonday approaches With its golden apparel Rustling about its feet.
High dreams of my city, Where we, a band of brothers, Build our proud dream of beauty Before we fall into dust.
The golden days have come for us: With mandolins, sword-thrusts, laughter.
Even the very dust of the street Grows gold beneath our feet.
Bronze bell-notes poured from deep blue wells: Molten gold out of the sky.
Pillars of yellow marble On the summits of which the G.o.ds sleep.
Now we are swimming; About us a great golden halo Vibrates from us downwards, Ebbing its life away.
Golden clouds are circling Like angels and archangels About the eye of the sun.
Flaming sunset: Mad conflagrations Licking at the earth, The blue-black walls of s.p.a.ce, Iron mountains vast on the horizon.
O golden spear that dartled through the darkness!
The evening star sparkled and threw us its message.
III
In the bosom of the desert I will lie at the last.
Not the grey desert of sand But the golden desert of great wild gra.s.ses, This shall receive my soul.
In the high plateaus, The wind will be like a flute-note calling me Day after day.
Short bursts of surf, The wind climbs up and stops in the gra.s.s; And the golden petals Brush drowsily over my face.
White b.u.t.terfly that flutters across my sea of golden blossom; Tell me, what are you looking for, lone white b.u.t.terfly?
I am seeking for a strange lonely white flower; Its petals are honeyless; and in the wind it is still.
White b.u.t.terfly, come, fold your wings over my heart: I am the white blossom, the white dead blossom for you.
In the golden bosom of the prairie, I am lying at the last Like a pool that is stilled.
But they who shared with me my life"s adventure, Who tossed their ducats like dandelions into the sunlight, I know that somewhere they with songs are building, Golden towers more beautiful than my own.
IV
I only know in the midnight, Something will be born of me.
The village drowses in the darkness, But aloft in the temple There is a thud of gongs and a shuffle of hollow voices In the dark corridors.
The golden temple That kindled like a rose against the sunset, Now is dark and silent, One light glimmers from its facade.
In the inner shrine One stiff golden curtain Hangs from floor to roof.
Black, impa.s.sive, helmeted In felt like stiff black warriors, The lamas slowly gather, Kneeling in a row.
The hollow brazen trumpets Blare and snore.
The drums, festooned with skulls, Roar.
Suddenly with a clash of gongs, And a squeal from ear-splitting bugles, The golden veil is rent.
Cavernous blue darkness!
And within it Smiling, Naked, Rose-empurpled, Rippling with crimson-violet light, behold the G.o.d.
Hail, great jewel in the lotus blossom!
Rosy flame that kindling Flashes on the emptiness Or Nirvana"s sea!