94
KONX OM PAX
That rose their steely flight behind, and set him lion-like to roar.
And as the Dervish
bowls and whirls its savour catches him and lifts
His
soul (beyond
the mind
that drifts)
into the Treasure
House
of
Pearls.
Even to the icy solitude of death a gust of scent is borne
An herald of the awaking
morn to that unhappy brotherhood;
An herald of the healing kiss of maids with eyes of white and black
Whose heavenly lips shall woo them back into a bright eternal bliss.
O laughter of delicious boys that bring the cup and pour the wine
And with their rosy limbs entwine fresh garlands of mirific joys!
The boy is prone upon the sand; he lies as one who nestles in
Some arbour delicate of sin built by the Everlasting Hand.
His lover is the Open Eye, that kindles Light within the Abyss,
And wakes with His immortal
kiss enthusiastic
energy.
Weep Thou again, 0 weeping
One!
Thy tears that gush within
the
goal
Are songs that shudder in the soul, and springs
that gladden
at the
sun.
They flood me with irradiate
tunes of life and ecstasy and light
As
though
some misty
maid
of night
were girded
with
a million
moons.
They make my pulsing
blood
to pour in rhythmic
throbs of music
rare;
My songs shall course the choral air from Mazaghan
to Mogador.
And leaping all the lesser bars I shall become the One and All,
And cry the cross-dissolving
call, and lose myself among the stars.
This
is indeed
paradox,
cried
the scholar.
You embolden
me to
read my “Mask of Gilt."
I defy the subtlest of you to find a moral or
a hieroglyph
in it;
so according
to you it must be the only decent
poem read as yet.
You
are
itching
to read
it,
said
the
big
man, for you love
the