The Equinox (Volume I, Number I)

212 THE EQUINOX I am set apart from the rest By meed of the mystic rune That reads in peril and pest The ambrosial moon—the moon! For under the tawny star That shines in the Bull above I can rein the riotous car Of galloping, galloping Love; And straight to the steady ray Of the Lion-heart Lord I career, Pointing my flaming way With the spasm of night for a spear! O moon! O secret sweet! Chalcedony clouds of caresses About the flame of our feet, The night of our terrible tresses! Is it a wonder, then, If the people are mad with blindness, And nothing is stranger to men Than silence, and wisdom, and kindness? Nay ! let him fashion an arrow Whose heart is sober and stout! Let him pierce his God to the marrow! Let the soul of his God flow out! Whether a snake or a sun In his horoscope Heaven hath cast, It is nothing; every one Shall win to the moon at last.