John St. John

I 240. 7-55- 9.20. JOHN ST. ]ΟΗΝ The dead man Ankh-af-na—khonsu Hath parted from the darkling crowds, Hath joined the dwellers of the light, Opening Duant, the star-abodes ; Their keys receiving. The dead man Ankh-af-na-khonsu Hath made his passage into night, His pleasure on the earth to do Among the living. Amen Amen without lie Amen, and Amen of Amen. I shall lie down to sleep in my robes, still wearing the Ring of the Masters, and bearing my wand in my hand. For to me now sleep is the same as waking, and life the same as death. In Thy L.V.X. are not light and darkness but twin children that chase each other in their play? Awoke from long sweet dreamless sleep, like a young eagle that soars to greet the dawn. After breakfast, have strolled, on my way to the studio, through the garden of the Luxembourgto my favourite fountain. It is useless to attempt to write of the dew and the flowers in the clear October sunlight. Yet the light which I behold is still more than sunlight. My eyes too are quite weak from the Vision ; I cannot bear the brilliance of things. The clock of the Senate strikes ; and my ears are ravished with its mysterious melody. It is the Infinite interior movement of things, secured by the co-exten- Ι35