Song

Hold by right and rule by fearTill the slowly broadening sphereMelting through the skies aboveMerge into the sphere of love.

Hold by might until you findMight is powerless o'er the mind:Hold by Truth until you see,Though they bow before the wind,Its towers can mock at liberty.

Time, the seneschal, is blind;Time is blind: and what are we?Captives of Infinity,Claiming through Truth's prison barsKinship with the wandering stars.

O, who could tell the wild weird sightsWe saw in all the days and nightsWe travelled through those forests old.We saw the griffons on white cliffs,Among fantastic hieroglyphs,Guarding enormous heaps of gold:

We saw the Ghastroi--curious menWho dwell, like tigers, in a den,And howl whene'er the moon is cold;They stripe themselves with red and blackAnd ride upon the yellow Yak.

Their dens are always ankle-deepWith twisted knives, and in their sleepThey often cut themselves; they sayThat if you wish to live in peaceThe surest way is not to ceaseCollecting knives; and never a dayCan pass, unless they buy a few;And as their enemies buy them tooThey all avert the impending fray,And starve their children and their wivesTo buy the necessary knives.

The forest leapt with shadowy shapesAs we came to the great black Tower of Apes:But we gave them purple figs and grapesIn alabaster amphoras:We gave them curious kinds of fruitWith betel nuts and orris-root,And then they let us pass:And when we reached the Tower of SnakesWe gave them soft white honey-cakes,And warm sweet milk in bowls of brass:And on the hundredth eve we foundThe City of the Secret Wound.

We saw the mystic blossoms blowRound the City, far below;Faintly in the sunset glowWe saw the soft blue glory flowO'er many a golden garden gate:And o'er the tiny dark green seasOf tamarisks and tulip-trees,Domes like golden orangesDream aloft elate.

And clearer, clearer as we went,We heard from tower and battlementA whisper, like a warning, sentFrom watchers out of sight;And clearer, brighter, as we drewClose to the walls, we saw the blueFlashing of plumes where peacocks flewThro' zones of pearly light.

On either side, a fat black bonzeGuarded the gates of red-wrought bronze,Blazoned with blue sea-dragonsAnd mouths of yawning flame;Down the road of dusty red,Though their brown feet ached and bled,Our coolies went with joyful tread:Like living fans the gates outspreadAnd opened as we came.