The Censer

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Anger, said he, anger and rage!
It comes like as comes smoke blowing
For he who breathes oft is not knowing
Of when he turned the page
Of when ended that summer age
When winter's wind came blowing
The hungry cattle come, lowing
Out of barren places, cold
Cold of ageless gnawing and old
And even those who rage not at God
Even they must think it odd
When hot temper steps forth bold
But what for those who bought and sold
Who wore spots like those who gnawed
That smeared their faces of grimy sod?
Do not the beloved not shout at them?
But are they not, though lowly, men?
But injustice is blood on earth's face
Calling out to him, calling out to grace
Asking for how long, asking for when
When the graceless age shall end
Not for revenge; or pride apace
Do they violently, run this race
And sing as poets, these battle songs
For when time ends and ends the wrongs
But the greatest mountain is then love
Climb its heights, and care not of
When the sweetly scented prayer prolongs
The censer's release, above the throngs
Comes down as did the form of dove
For a moment the below as above
That living light, that making song
Becomes at last, a beautiful bomb.


The Ministrel Tells of a Way

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
What! The mazy meandering path,
That walk across the Wintermark
Whose trail trod a widening swath
The Summermere's image stark
Made there a sunlit flashing spark?

The walk, said he, beneath the tower
Whose ebon countenance does gaze
Whose eyeless windows glower
Whose shadow cuts the foggy haze
Beside the Summermere's ways?

Go not there, he said with care
For the trail goes under the mountain
Beyond the Pearlsand's choking air
Into the shadowed water fallen
To the heart of Goldmight's fountain.

And from there the Nightlit's purple eyes
Show visions made of jeweled flashes
Show imaginations, prophecies, lies
Beneath the Earthman's falling lashes
Nightlit is fed by Goldmight's ashes.

And the path is fiery and is cold
The heat of Goldmight's breaking heart
Makes the skin and lungs feel old
Until the last Earthman's sagging cart
At the Chilldark's borders part.

There the wood-gate lies in state
Frozen cold by Hazmel's spells
Who fears Verda the Queen called great
Whose home is under Ironwells,
Hazmel who fears the ringing bells.

And tell not any of the magnetic rocks
That are in the heart of the Livingdeep
Beneath the sacred leaves and stalks
Where the elders of each unmute beast
At night a solemn vigil keep.

And fear old Hazmel, Yonder Knight,
And Livingdeep while still she lives
Keeps vigils with these all at night
And hopes his wrath one day forgives
And to her children blessing gives.

And fear they all the purple hood
Who comes and goes without a sound
And searches that old virgin wood
And paces gently the Aspenmound
Until her charge at last be found.

But I see clearly now the roving kind
Have you among their merry number
Keep my wandering words in mind
See them in blood's musky umber
Let them echo like calling thunder!