Poems by Themis

Pralaya

It is the hour of dark on land and sea:

The moon with its pale dream-magic is dead,

And the stars that spun forth our melody,

Cold and uncreating, unsanctified...

On the bosom of immortal worlds moves a hand

Heavy with the weight of unblossoming power,

To crush to leaden slumber the colours of earth,

To a dreamless, senseless grey;

Into the warm glory-heart of the buds,

The sins fall chill and thick with their choking whispers,

And darkling strangers submit to the purging curse...

O danceless hour, undaring even to move on

Lest the one blessing of inaction be lost,

You wait unquestioning the meaningless pain,

This still agony of an uncoloured world, where

even our striving seems sin; —

You wait...

And pale birds sit trembling in the pools of night,

Hearkening to the words of the dust.

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