The Equinox (Volume I, Number II)

194 THE EQUINOX Art thou not burnt in the fire of my will ? See, by the flashes that crimson and kill I am the master ; the magic is still. VI See! how the wrath of my rune that I send her, Fire of my fire, is flung flying to end her, Wrapping in ruin that scintillant splendour. Fire of my fire! how the brilliance darts forth, Runs to the uttermost pole of the North, Splashing all space with the spume of my wrath! Ah! but the subtle, the perilous way; That hath no fire to enkindle the clay. Ever to all be the word of me Nay! I who am Being and Knowledge and Bliss Lack by so much of the utter abyss :— Bring me, O bring me, O bring me to this ! VII Nay! it is over; I may not attain. Why amI faint but because I am fain? Roll me the rapture of amber again ! Ah! but the poppy’s deciduous dream May not avail me to stand to the stream Bearing me back from the Mighty Extreme.