Page:Konx Om Pax.pdf/108

That rose their steely flight behind, and set him lion-like to roar.
And as the Dervish howls 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, O 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.