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ISSUE:  Summer 1933

Whom the gods worship as the Light of lights
And as immortal Time,
I, mortal, breathe
As my soul’s element,—the mighty seethe
Of Thought discarnate and the dryleaf flights
Of my thought storming through my days and nights,
Whirlwind and that it shatters.
I must unsheathe
The blade of fire that is myself, unwreathe
The mandrake coils that bind it.
Whoso fights
With arm of ghostly temper such as mine
Has but to hold the bright point steady.
Lo! How headlong darkness rushes on
It to shine In severed halves from its reflected glow.
Yet heavy the hilt of clay: O flame divine
Leap free, leap home in one exultant throe!


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