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The Feast of Age

SEE where the light streams over Connla’s fountain
     Starward aspire!
The sacred sign upon the holy mountain
     Shines in white fire:
Wavering and flaming yonder o’er the snows
     The diamond light
Melts into silver or to sapphire glows,
     Night beyond night:
And from the heaven of heaven descends on earth
     A dew divine.
Come, let us mingle in the starry mirth
     Around the shrine.
O earth, enchantress, mother, to our home
     In thee we press,
Thrilled by thy fiery breath and wrapt in some
     Vast tenderness.
The homeward birds, uncertain o’er their nest
     Wheel in the dome,
Fraught with dim dreams of more enraptured rest,
     Another home.
But gather ye, to whose undarkened eyes
     Night is as day,
Leap forth, immortals, birds of paradise,
     In bright array,
Robed like the shining tresses of the sun,
     And by his name
Call from his haunt divine the ancient one,
     Our father flame.
Aye, from the wonder light, heart of our star,
     Come now, come now.
Sun-breathing spirit, ray thy lights afar:
     Thy children bow,
Hush with more awe the heart; the bright-browed races
     Are nothing worth,
By those dread gods from out whose awful faces
     The earth looks forth
Infinite pity set in calm, whose vision cast
     Adown the years
Beholds how beauty burns away at last
     Their children’s tears.
Now while our hearts the ancient quietness
     Floods with its tide,
The things of air and fire and height no less
     In it abide;
And from their wanderings over sea and shore
     They rise as one
Unto the vastness, and with us adore
     The midnight sun,
And enter the innumerable All
     And shine like gold,
And starlike gleam in the immortal’s hall,
     The heavenly fold,
And drink the sun-breaths from the mother’s lips
     Awhile, and then
Fail from the light and dropp in dark eclipse
     To earth again,
Roaming along by heaven-hid promontory
     And valley dim,
Weaving a phantom image of the glory
     They knew in Him.
Out of the fulness flow the winds, their song
     Is heard no more,
Or hardly breathes a mystic sound along
     The dreamy shore,
Blindly they move, unknowing as in trance;
     Their wandering
Is half with us, and half an inner dance,
     Led by the King.
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