The Equinox (Volume III, Number I)

190 THE EQUINOX Widowed of its undying Lord, Its bowl of silver broke, its cord Of gold unloosed, its shining ladders Thrown down, its ears more deaf than adders, Its windows blind, its music stopped, From its place in Heaven dropped, From its starry throne was hurled Beyond the pillars of the world— Borne from the byss of light To the Dark Night! The moon had sunk behind the tower When, for a moment, by the power Of nature, as even the eagle’s eye Turns wearied from the sun, did I Fall from the conning-crag, that springs Above the Universe of Things, Into the dark impertinence Of the mirrored lies of sense. Yet, when I sought the stars to espy And ree the runes of destiny, Mine eyes their wonted office failed, So diligently God had veiled Me from myself! I could not hear The drone and rustle of the weir. No help in that world or in this! I was alone in the abyss. No Whence! no Whither! and no Why! Not even Who evokes reply. No vision and no voice repay