I see a figure hovering, a face Draw near to mine that slowly disappears Yet still is there, Her profile filling space, A guardian of the unnumbered years.
When will we look again into those eyes And place our heads on Her white-sandaled feet, Not only glimpsed on life's peripheries But in Her fire, intolerable and sweet
Burn the remnants of old mortality That from the ego's ash soul may rise Triumphant as a Phoenix from the sea Soaring to the halls of Paradise
To plunge once more to earth's predestined shore And meet the Mother shorn of the garbs of time, On sacred soil Her wonders to explore Forerunners of the future's paradigm.
Poems Undated (1727)
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