The Mother’s Tragedy

THE FATAL FORCE Within the gateway of the golden East To rule my fate; but I have conquered Fate Thus far, that I am perfect in myself, The absolute unity and triple power Engrafted. For the foolish people see An old grey woman, wicked, not divine, Who shall this hour assume the royal self And the old godhead, and the lithe strong limbs And supple loins and splendid bosom bare Full of bright milk, the breast of all the world. This lesser mastery I have made mine own By strange devices, by unheard-of ways Of wisdom, by strong sins, and magical Rituals made righteous of their own excess Of horror; but I have not made myself So absolute as I shall do to-day In this new infamy. For I must pass Desolate into the dusk of things again, Having risen so far to fall to the abyss, Deeper for exaltation; I must go Wailing and naked into the inane Cavernous shrineless place of misery, Forgetful, hateful, impotent, except The last initiation seize my soul, And fling me into Isis’ very self, The immortal, mortal. Let me know this night Whether my place is found among the stars That wander in the deep, or made secure As the high throne of her that dwells in heaven, Fruitful for life and death, Wisdom her name, 47