"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Daniel Morgan

"Come, O come, make haste, dear one."
Barefoot up the balding tor
They flew, themself a breeze among
The wind that whistled though the roof.
Each blade of grass was all a-low
And spectacled with the darkening glow,
Until the welkin overhead
Hushed them into two shadows.

He led her like a chary child
Where rainbows dance through twilight fire.
"This at last," he breathed a while,
Then stopped, full gazing in her eyes.
"The crystal-singing luminous
Would wait their turn to rival this.
Come April and the latter rains,
We'll see all that these eyes might miss."

In suspense of every astral intent,
Esther still smiled for this his gift,
His long-promised synodic present.
So she declined to wait when light
Hit all, the earth was washed, and all
The starry host was born and tall
Upon the tender eve, they fell
Kaleiding with face of night.

Cross-legged they sat upon the grass.
Of all the many flooded spheres,
She with thoughts of strange fire
Felt the weird and subtle fear —
But there were other explanations,
Less exacting revelations.
Who's ever heard a star to fall?
Though there's eclipse and occultation.

But so with skies, telluric eyes,
Unborn and made incredulous,
Though He undid His lunar side,
Fail to grasp the hands of faith,
To where the wall is gotten past,
And tents are entered by the last.
In endless apohelion,
She felt her breath begin to pass,

But in the falling, she was caught.
And wincing back, she closed her eyes,
To Law and conscious exercise,
That with secrets God should spell the skies.
Even the brightest outer courts,
Could never frame the carnal mind.
Unless the gloss be given first,
Despair who wish for paradise,
Despair of Death the second time.