aside all waste; the storm centred with your dancing limbs shakes the
sacred shower of death over life and freshens her growth.

Should you in sudden weariness stop for a moment, the world would rumble
into a heap, an encumbrance, barring its own progress, and even the least
speck of dust would pierce the sky throughout its infinity with an
unbearable pressure.


My thoughts are quickened by this rhythm of unseen feet round which the
anklets of light are shaken.

They echo in the pulse of my heart, and through my blood surges the psalm
of the ancient sea.

I hear the thundering flood tumbling my life from world to world and form
to form, scattering my being in an endless spray of gifts, in sorrowings
and songs.


The tide runs high, the wind blows, the boat dances like thine own desire,
my heart!

Leave the hoard on the shore and sail over the unfathomed dark towards
limitless light.



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