A heart that longs unable yet to soar, A body bound by cords of ignorance A soul alive to beauty at its core Silent still as in a natal trance.
The mind is too much master of our days The vital man of unfulfilled desire, What room is there for rapture or for grace When thought is but an unrelenting gyre.
The fields of our forgetfulness are sown With the scattered bones of promises unfilled The cluttered inner landscape overgrown, The soil of our awakening untilled.
The key is given and unlocked the gate That opens on transcendent images, Eternal scenes of sweetness that await The traveller spirit through life's passages
Until the hour of its offering, The consecration and the holy rite The sacrifice of self desiring Darkness' end and the transforming light.
Poems Undated (1727)
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