The wind sings round your shoulders all night long;
Your skirts are ancient forest; dragon trees,
Writhed with antiquity, o 'ershade your knees
Above the cliffs; around your forehead throng
Your old confederates in your wars with wrong, --
Capella, Betelgeuze, the Pleiades,
Arcturus and Antares, and with these
Knowledge, and peace, and the olden spirit of song.
And still your gaze is fixed beyond the wane
Of time, beyond these crumbling states and years;
And still the loud and warlike nations come
Pilgrim about your feet, to kindle again
That grandeur from the ever-radiant spheres
Your grandeur lit the world with, and are dumb.
Kenneth Morris, D. Litt.
[Theosophical Path, Aug. 1931]
Thanks to Nicholas Weeks