370 The Future Poetry
Trance of Waiting^2
Lone on my summits of calm I have brooded with voices
around me,
Murmurs of silence that steep mind in a luminous sleep,
Whispers from things beyond thought in the Secrecy
flame-white for ever,
Unscanned heights that reply seek from the inconscient
deep.
Distant below me the ocean of life with its passionate surges
Pales like a pool that is stirred by the wings of a shadowy
bird.
Thought has flown back from its wheelings and stoopings, the
nerve-beat of living
Stills; my spirit at peace bathes in a mighty release.
Wisdom supernal looks down on me, Knowledge mind cannot
measure;
Light that no vision can render garments the silence with
splendour.
Filled with a rapturous Presence the crowded spaces of being
Tremble with the Fire that knows, thrill with the might of
repose.
Earth is now girdled with trance and Heaven is put round her
for vesture.
Wings that are brilliant with fate sleep at Eternity’s gate.
Time waits, vacant, the Lightning that kindles, the Word that
transfigures;
Space is a stillness of God building his earthly abode.
All waits hushed for the fiat to come and the tread of the Eternal;
Passion of a bliss yet to be sweeps from Infinity’s sea.
(^2) Elegiacs, with rhyme in the pentameter. A syllable or two introducing the last
hemistich of the pentameter is allowed, but this must not be made the rule. This licence,
impossible in the strict cut of classical metre, comes in naturally in English and is
therefore permissible.