A FRAGMENT.'
In the midst of the desert of Libya, on a mound of
sand, lieth a young man alone and naked.
Nightfall.
NIGHT the voluptuous, night the chaste
Spreads her dark limbs, a vaulted splendour,
Above the intolerable waste.
Night the august one, night the tender
Queens it and brides it unto me.
I am the soul serenely free;
I dare to seek the austere ordeal
That drags the hoodwink of the Real
Back from the Maker’s livid eyes
Lustred with hate. At noon I came
Blind in the desert, saw the sun
Leap o’er the edge, a fury of flame
1 Intended as the prologue to a history of an initiate in
semi-dramatic form.
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