them up
in the dark cycles of mutation--or makes them to bloom in the Night.

For they awaken once more when rings aloud the impulsive alternating
song of the Spirit of Life, her joyful sister, clad with inevitable
day.

Now the solar orbs are overcast with swift eclipse as with a mantle.

They are swept into illimitable abysses.

Above, below and all about gleam vast cohorts and constellations
of living stars, pouring crystalline melody from thrones of Light.

Ghosts of worlds drift by, and suns wrapped in extinction.

They too are floating tombs, in them too, Life, Love and Thought
lie sepultured like seeds.

Sepultured, until from the mighty marriage of orb with orb in
planetary impact shall the great rose of Existence re-unfold its
leaves in the light and warmth of suns new-born.

So follow and follow the unending successions of the Seasons of
Eternity.

SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF CHAOS

DARKNESS, unconquered Darkness, spread thy tent,
Silence, build up thy co-eternal wall.
Death, who art silent and dark, this firmament
Is thine, these withered worlds--Oh, take them all!
Pearls dead and lustreless, float back to Death,--
You from the sun-dust born and starry spray,
Life set you free and warmed you with his breath
A day, and Night hath fallen on that day.
Float back to Death, pearls dead and lustreless,
So he may sow you on the stormy streams
That wander unto aweful wars and press
Onward their throneless orbs that know no beams,--
Blind sepulchres that hold within their stones
Ashes that sang and dust that shone with thought.
Though suns on suns emergent dash your zones
With lustre-floods,--no wonder shall be wrought,
Till out of ruins of transmuting strife
With sister globes that weld the eternal chain,
You win alternate Life and Death and Life
Again . . . and again . . . and again . . .

The voice of the Spirit passes away into Immensity.

Darkness and Silence in Immanence.

The unheard rhythmical suspiration of the Universe.

Peace.

RE-BIRTH

The vacant room of stars is flooded with a presence.

The tides of Life pulsate with the prophecy of Birth.

Now it is the Song of the Spirit of Creation that is heard on high
above the perished Solar Universe.

The dead worlds are hidden in the lap of Night, sightless, forlorn
wanderers. They move in darkness, unseeing and unseen, though
smitten by the rays of living stars.

Upon their cold breasts