BIRD

The soul doth unthaw — the soul skippeth in gleam,
The soul, breaking forth to the sky, like a dream,
Doth play with the moon’s silent pathway of light
And hideth in shadows of watch house at night.

The wind drifts aloft betwixt pinions of wing,
She hovereth o’er me, she sporteth in spring;
In wisdom’s mute hush down the footpath I go,
From night I shall flee to the watch house aglow.

The soul melteth thin, and in dreaming beholdeth
She is the feather of that selfsame bird she followeth;
And I do behold, o’er my watch house on high,
How spell fires are kindled by witch silent eyed nigh.

The soul trembleth sore, and in vision it sees
That the bird at the dawn hath departed in breeze…
And flame licketh soft at my watch house in flame,
As the fell enchantress foretold it by name.

And I am consumed — yea, in fire I decay,
As ash unto heaven’s far gateways I stray…
And after me riseth one feather in flight,
And fanneth to naught in the pre dawning night.

The watch house doth smoulder, to cinder, to breath.
And we with the soul flee toward Eden through death…
One last flicker glimmers — and therefrom takes wing
That selfsame dread bird… and the vision grows thin…