The Sword of Song

22 P E N T E C O S T TO-DAY thrice halves the lunar week Since you, indignant, heard me speak Indignant. Then I seemed to be So far from Christianity ! Now, other celebrations fit The time, another song shall flit Responsive to another tune. September’s shadow falls on June, But dull November’s darkest day Is lighted by the sun of May. Here’s now I got a better learning. It’s a long lane that has no turning ! Mad as a woman-hunted Urning, The lie-chased alethephilist :* Sorcery’s maw gulps the beginner : In Pain’s mill neophytes are grist : Disciples ache upon the rack. Five years I sought : I miss and lack ; Agony hounds lagoan twist ; I peak and struggle and grow thinner, And get to hate the sight of dinner. With sacred thirst, I, soul-hydroptic,1 Read Levi2 and the cryptic Coptic ;3 With ANET’ HER-K UAA EN RA,4 And atwoynxd arps While good MacGregor5 (who taught freely us) Bade us investigate Cornelius Agrippa and the sorceries black Of grim Honorius and Abramelin ;6 While, fertile as the teeming spawn Of pickled lax or stickleback, Came ancient rituals,7 whack ! whack ! Of Rosy Cross and Golden Dawn.8 * Truth-lover. 5 10 15 20 25 30 Poem dissimi- lar to its pre- decessor. Will it lead some- where this time? Reflections on the weather, proper to be- ginning a con- versation in English. Autobiography of bard. Lehrjahre. Wanderjahre. “The magician of Paris.” How clever I am !