SONGS OF THE SOUL
Not here, not here
The soft capricious wiles of flowers,
Nor swarming storm clouds’ sweeping terror,
Nor doomsday’s thunder drear
Dismantling earth and stars,
The cosmic beauties all to mar;
Dishevelling of trees
And light-haired skies,
Nor nature’s murderous mutiny
Nor man’s all-powerful destiny
Can touch me here.
The soft capricious wiles of flowers,
Nor swarming storm clouds’ sweeping terror,
Nor doomsday’s thunder drear
Dismantling earth and stars,
The cosmic beauties all to mar;
Dishevelling of trees
And light-haired skies,
Nor nature’s murderous mutiny
Nor man’s all-powerful destiny
Can touch me here.
Not here, not here—
Through mind’s strong iron bars
No gods nor goblins, no men nor nature
Without my pass dare enter.
I look behind, ahead,
And on naught but darkness tread.
In wrath I strike, and set it ablaze
With the immortal spark of thought,
By the friction process brought
Through mind’s strong iron bars
No gods nor goblins, no men nor nature
Without my pass dare enter.
I look behind, ahead,
And on naught but darkness tread.
In wrath I strike, and set it ablaze
With the immortal spark of thought,
By the friction process brought
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