Strange Houses Of Sleep

Strange Houses Of Sleep

by Arthur Edward Waite
     
 

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This Is A New Release Of The Original 1906 Edition.

Overview

This Is A New Release Of The Original 1906 Edition.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781169324794
Publisher:
Kessinger Publishing Company
Publication date:
09/10/2010
Pages:
342
Product dimensions:
0.81(w) x 10.00(h) x 7.00(d)

Read an Excerpt


THE SCARLET SWAN Here is high teaching from the far blue lift, For Madeline, sweet maid of Mary's gift, By certain stars transmitted on a beam Of argent splendour through a lilac haze ; A legend of the land which is not dream Or waking, as of eyes in earthly ways, Under the crimson splendours of the morn, But something greater which from both is born And far o'er life abides, in joyful stress, Full of high state and thoughtful solemness. Now list! That Madeline of white and red Rose blooms was wrought, who doubts ? The wise have said— And the gold hair, assuredly, of her Shone once upon the King-Sun's royal head, As all the elfin parables aver, Whence sunshine loves so well to brood thereon; But all of scarlet was the Flying Swan Which, on the day that Madeline was made, God in such glory of bright plumes array'd, And so commission'd over starry tides Saying:—Dear heart, have courage, a rest abides ! Now thus it is that through the breathless deeps Of heaven's great space upon his flight he keeps : Star after star upon the Scarlet Swan, Pours floods of light, and ever and anon, Athwart his path, the comets with a crash Hurtle, the falling meteors seethe and flash ; Dark worlds, bereft of all the fire within, Blind in the void about him feebly spin; And where in luminous mists the starry seeds Show myriad points of light, swift-wing'd, he speeds. Must he not weary ? For deep rest indeed Longs he not, dreaming of the waters cool, The clear brown stillness of some shaded pool, A nest engirded by a world of reed ? I know at least, with keen eyes fix'd before, And fill'd with frighten'd longing, evermore He labours night and day to reach his end; On Madeline, of Mary'sgift, alone, As legends tell, for help his wings depend, Lest he faint somewhere ...

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