Rosa Coeli

In his imperfect fashion, So that thy wisdom and they strength are sold In every mart of earth ; So that thine eyes enfold The universe in one great look of love Bring this, bring this to birth ! And neither hate below, nor hate above, Nor chance, nor force, nor cunning shall deprive Man of thy gift, a love alive With more than men to-day can understand. XV IVE me thine hand, Rose of the Stars, and we will soar above Wisdom and Strength and Love, Into the sphere where all delight retires In azure flames and silver-edgéd fires. Now through the veil we shoot Like snaky lightning through a thundercloud Up to the awful precipice-skirted place Where deaf, blind, palsied, mute There sits the leprous God ; we laugh aloud Seeing him face to face, Blowing him like a shaken sheaf of snow With a brief gust of wind Over the cliffs of his ensanguine throne ; Seating ourselves thereon, as men shall know, 15 G