Ambergris

34 AMBERGRIS The lotus is afire for love, Its yearnings are immortal still ; But in its bosom, fed thereof, Lust, like a child will have his will. Immortal fervour, strangely blent With mystic sensual sacrament, Fills up its cup, its petals tremble With faint desires that dissemble The fierce intention to be wed One with the spring sun’s head. The fountains of the river yearn Toward the sacred temple-walls, They foam upon the sands that burn With spring’s delirious festivals. They flash upon the gleaming ways, They cry, they chant aloud the praise Of Isis, and our temple kisses Their flowery water-wildernesses, Whose foamheads nestle to the stones With slumberous antiphones. All birds and beasts and fish are fain To mingle passion with the hope All creatures hold, that cycled pain May make its stream the wider scope Of many lives and changing law, Till to the sacred fountains draw Essences of dim being, mated With lofty substance uncreated, Concluding the full period That makes all being God.