The Equinox (Volume I, Number II)

THE PRIESTESS OF PANORMITA The mage hath wrought by his art A billion shapes in the sun. Look through to the heart of his heart, And the many are shapes of one! An end to the art of the mage, And the cold grey blank of the prison! An end to the adamant age! The ambrosial moon is arisen. I have bought a lily-white goat For the price of a crown of thorns, A collar of gold for its throat, A scarlet bow for its horns. I have bought a lark in the lift For the price of a butt of sherry: With these, and God for a gift, It needs no wine to be merry! I have bought for a wafer of bread A garden of poppies and clover; For a water bitter and dead A foam of fire flowing over. From the Lamb and his prison fare And the owl’s blind stupor, arise! Be ye wise, and strong, and fair, And the nectar afloat in your eyes! Arise, O ambrosial moon By the strong immemorial spell, By the subtle veridical rune That is mighty in heaven and hell! 213