Ephemeron

But still he grovels, and the dupe is still Of midnight moralists who prate of light, Deeming it holy to subdue his will And brook the chainless spirit in its flight, Hoping for day yet living in the night When nearby doth an eeless vast day burn, Nor with horizon to retard the sight With circumscribing glitter let him turn And drink immortal rays; ever I is dust in urn.

Ephemeron, thou dweller in a cloud, Well mayest thou cry, unanswered through the storm, 'Will all my breath be stifled with the shroud, Or shall my pulse bound ever nor less warm, Or do I dwell in and thereto conform The dream of some great consciousness nor deem Myself as I am but a conjured form Of transcendental fancy do I seem, Or be and all I see conception's sensuous dream?' Still Brahm's dream in ever-widening curves Chance through the systems with creating thrill; But hath the dreamer wakened, or still serves He blindly that somnific dubious will That vexes him with darkness and doth fill His mind which is the universe with storm, And shall we, conscious shadows, flit until He wake to find his dream alone was warm? O Sun of Truth, burst forth, and dissipate the storm! End of Part 5 Recorded by Nathan at antipodeanwriter.wordpress.com This is Part 6 of The Divine Enchantment by John Neihardt.

This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

Recorded by Nathan at antipodeanwriter.wordpress.com.