Logos

Out of the night forth flamed a star -mine own! Now seventy light-years nearer as I urge Constant my heart through the abyss unknown, Its glory my sole guide while space surge About me. Seventy light-yaers! As I near That gate of light that men call death, its cold Pale gleam begins to pulse, a throbbing sphere, Systole and diastole of eager gold, New life immortal, wartmth of passion bleed Till night's black velvet burn to crimson. Hark! It is thy voice, Thy word, the secret seed Of rapture that admonishes the dark. Swift! By necessity most righteous drawn, Hermes, authentic augur of the dawn!