Songs of the Spirit

The lips of death upon the moon’s dark face, So that her silver lustre might rejoice The fiery lover, the sharp nightingale, And those pale mortals whom the day beholds. Asleep, because the many bid them slave From dusk to dawn being poor ; and braided up The loose hair of all trees and flowers, and made Their one white light divide to red and green And violet and the hues innumerable Lesser than these, and gave man hope at last With the invariable law of death Abundant in new life, and having filled The world with music, dost demand of us “ Is my work meaningless ? ” O thou, supreme, Thou, First and Last, most inconceivable All-radiating Unity, thou sphere All-comprehensive, all-mysterious, Spirit of Life and Death, bow down and hear ! [Bends deeper and prays silently. The flame grows duller, and finally leaves the room in absolute darkness. Curtain. 18