of stone the dust of ruined worlds lies as
a garment. Windless it lies as it falls or rises out of Chaos that
encompasses all.

The Spirit of Creation moves grandly through the deeps. In her hands
she bears Fire and Light, on her lips her all-conquering command.
She flings dead worlds among the dead, as a sower his seed or a
slinger his stones.

A spark is lit in the vast obscure. A glory, a rose of fire, blooms
in the pit of darkness. It is now a glowing mist with far-spread
vans, a phoenix wrought of flame.

The cloud gathers about it its flowing veils and swarming foam of
Fire. It winds them around its white effulgent heart. The sundered
flakes of crimson twist and turn, they shrink, yet do not flee.

Out of the blazing mists a new-born Sun shapes forth his awful
splendour. His worlds divest themselves of robes and wings, shining
in beauty white and pure.

The dead are born again and the stars rejoice in light.

From the molten orbs there comes a murmur, a fresh music to mingle
with the Sun's.

The words of the Spirit of Creation swell in a harmonious storm,
they mould the worlds as with hands, they sweep the plumbless spaces
as with a besom of winds.

SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF CREATION

LET orb be wedded unto orb!--let light
Engender in the wombs of fiery clouds
In flashing spirals scarring the dead Night,
With tongues of argent fire and crimson shrouds.
You bear the seed of Worlds; from you shall spring
A Universe through roaring cycles spun
Round him whose bulk enormous crowns him king
And master of all vassal orbs, the Sun!
You golden worlds or white, you gelid Moons,
Each in your mountant orbit king or queen,
In midnights plunged or soaring in your noons,
Accoutred in glory male, or virgin sheen,
Awake! awake! the dark unbars her gate!
Burst forth like gems from Death's titanic tomb!
The joyous zenith and mute nadir wait,
Vessels of Life reborn, to yield you room.
Rocks and their garnered ores shall form your flesh,
And you shall pant in flowing seas of Air;
You shall have boon of Waters, salt and fresh,
And gift of godlike Fire to make you fair.

Afloat in splendour, panoplied in light--the arch-pontifical Sun!

He shakes his threshing, intolerable mane of flames, his face bans
darkness and makes a burning void in his domains. He pours his
lustihood and power upon the joyous spheres. His rays transmute all
things. Through the dancing infant host his