A Lake That Burns

A lake that burns See Its surface burns Its bosom hot With smoke that not Putrid But like incense Smells The lake that burns The lake that burns in to the night Over the heights of cloud On cloud The winds of Zephyr Scale: Ah! this scene and this Place in the Sub-Conscious fit: More than the beauties of the Conscious Though both be beauty. The drunk wine Potion In the sacred cup of Drear and glory simultaneous Pours little by little Drop after drop Of the blood of the heavens Evolved rain. Soars the eagle with wings Spanned and straight Proportionate and uniform As From chaos and chance And probability It evolved by degrees and By the hands of Master Time. Sacred and smoking incense to quiet the Relative wrath Of the old gods There In the high heavens Seated Seated On uneasy thrones of gold. Startled From the warm of sleep The miserable Poet Seer The Poet Seer of misery Walks Paces Pace after pace In the bed room: Midnight is past And near three the clock Chimes. Shattered with Gold and topaz Twined Diamonds of the East: The uneasy Statue lay On the cold floor: So cold that mists Emerged Emerged in to the Sub-Conscious Asleep at night In the vessels of Life. Tattered and torn Fragments Fragments that however join The night is long The night is uneasy: The night is painful Germ Of the genesis of the Next dawn. Here The Poet-Child-Seer woke And With opened eyes And wild Roamed For he knew that in the Reign of the Subconscious Was From the last remaining Drops of Conscious. Fingers that uneasy hang And trembling Thoughts Each finger a cluster emitting Like as to magnetic rays The altitude of emotion. For he woke: The Poet-Child-Seer woke And With opened eyes And wild Roamed For he knew that in the Reign of the Subconscious There He roamed like a fish In the delphinium of Time There There the years swim Slow mute and silent In the mists of the days In the clutter of lives In the mute flags That sub-conscious Fly In to the depth of night The Poet-Child-Seer saw Storm-Child of the centuries You must be saved For you be Poet-Seer And your nobility Must Let you rise Rise To the heights of the old days The noble ancientness Subsequent The turnings of the globe Of history Sub-Conscious the brain mute Looks Looks in to the mirror of life: The clutter The mists that fly The fragments of Sub-Conscious. Castle of night Castle That glimmers in the lake waters Castle That smokes incense from Its hidden dungeons Where beauty hidden hides From the night Till The casements of the castle Open on the smiling gray That is next dawn. Beer That smokes from the mugs Of the channels of beauty: Snows That fall in the long nights Flowers That red and trellised DNA-twirled In the cold heights of the heavens The night In the ways of the Town of the Brain Beauties move slow Mute and silent In the canals of Time That smile Sphinx of the Universe The hammer Of the old ancient Nobility of dogma. Into the night The red dusk fades And unto his eastern cave Flees: The old Norseman with the helmet Of iron and covering Icicles of snow Dripping Passed by silent His descendants he saw In the town and the city Entering A bedroom a couple Made love Another bedroom He saw an old man sleeping: And there There Stood the old Norseman With tears in his eyes And white-red beard. ‘You Poet Seer, ’ he said to me ‘have predilection for the Winter, nights, stars, moon, and Their brood: Why? O why? ’ Replied the Voice: ‘Contemplate Beauty. In the mute paces of Master Time The Sub-Conscious finds its Flowering: And therein too therein Lies its Spring: In the mute paces of Master Time You will walk too And too Be in the luck of Beauty withholding.’ In to the palaces of Beauty For Beauty has many palaces The Poet-Child-Seer of the wild Wild eyes Will barefoot pace Walk Wandering Wandering amidst the maze Of corridors secret Secret passages And halls of beauties And of glories old: Where shone the lights of gold On many a festive night Whilst In the garden outside The rains fell, The rains fell And snow. O! this be the work of the Sub-Conscious That magic wand That touched, just touched Will wanders write on earth And in the skies The heavens immense Words noble and great and of us all That taken to the heart and In the heart Will on the tapestries, the noble Tapestries The wonders of old beauty Ancient Manifest. Smiled then The Poet-Child-Seer spurning Wealth and power For wealth and power Is the power of the word, The Voice of the Individual Sovereign Will The beauty, the night, the stars, the moon, And then The opening of day the Dawn. Lullaby of the Poet-Child-Seer Wandering through The forests of beauty The thicket of trees The mists colored and deep And thick with the scents Of beauty and the dreams The scepter of Morpheus The song mute and lonely Of solitude in dreams Lullaby Lullaby of the Poet-Child-Seer Wandering through The forests of beauty The thicket of trees The mists colored and deep And thick with the scents Of beauty and the dreams Dawn that comes, dawn of beauty Beauty that rises from the pebbles Beauty that rises with the mists The scents of spume and sea-waves The genesis from the sea, the waters That girdle The tongues of earth: Dawn that sings in the songs of birds The rising trees of green that stir Dawn that comes, dawn of beauty Beauty that rises from the pebbles Beauty that rises with the mists The scents of spume and sea-waves Night of the stars Night of the moon Night of dancing lights Night of the faded twilights Night of defeated dusks of red. Dawn that comes, dawn of beauty Beauty that rises from the pebbles Beauty that rises with the mists The scents of spume and sea-waves The genesis from the sea, the waters That girdle The tongues of earth: Dawn that sings in the songs of birds The rising trees of green that stir Dawn that comes, dawn of beauty Beauty that rises from the pebbles Beauty that rises with the mists The scents of spume and sea-waves