Ain Soph Aur, or The Limitless Light

Ain Soph Aur, or The Limitless Light

A Poem by Christopher Kelly
"

Poetry...

"

Ain Soph Aur, or The Limitless Light

Christopher Kelly

 

 

 

      Back, Bog! Move, Mog!
             March, Manmuscle!
                      I am Maker, and might!
                         I am Mover, and may! I am Matter, and might!
              I am the Mighty Mower! Moving, improving! Mow might, Michman!
         Magnet-eyed magus! Moving! Improving!
                    Musclemarch!
              March, Michman! Hands! Arms!
                         Mammering, mowering force-face, full of muchness!
                                    Matchering eyes, michering thoughts, muchering brows!
                                See my face, my mighthead! My arms, my mighthood!
         �"My hands, my arms!
              Might-maker, main-mantle, motor-matter,
                              Motivated power-mower! Mogre!
                                    My force-face mamogrified!
                                Many-mastering, Mog-mating muscle,
  You shake your hair like a mountain-mogre,
                   A manifold maze, a nest of moglings, of muchlets and mainlings,
                         Of mightlings and masterkins, muchable mightlemames,
                              Where one miggle madlet still writhes
                                   In a mowering moggle of magistry, a mag of might,
                  A breeding herd of mightlings and muchlets.
                           The raven beats her wings, brings water in her beak.
                                   I must hurry so I will not be late!
     See my face, Manmuscle! Magus of magnitudes!
Master of muchness!
     Mickle miches! Major motion picture!
          I move like fire-power, mogeyman, monster of men’s magination.
                Mickle miches in a little magoom.
                    Move, Manmuscle!
                               Mog’s overmowering muchness! Mammering Mog!


      Man’s-marrow! Power-mirror!
         Magnify, mind, my magnimind! Hands, magnify!
              Arms, mogrify!


                Mutcher, Michman, magic Mogasm!
  Move!
                Magus of magnitudes! Master of muchness!
                            Moogle-eyes! Mog-mouth!
                          Michness of muchnesses!

 

 Leaf-strewing gales

Utter low wails

Like violins,--

Till on my soul

Their creeping dole

Stealthily wins....

Days long gone by!

In such hour, I,

Choking and pale,

Call you to mind,--

Then like the wind

Weep I and wail.

And, as by wind

Harsh and unkind,

Driven by grief,

Go I, here, there,

Recking not where,

Like the dead leaf.

 

 

Oh, heavy, heavy my despair,

Because, because of One so fair.

My misery knows no allay,

Although my heart has come away.

Although my heart, although my soul,

Have fled the fatal One's control.

My misery knows no allay,

Although my heart has come away.

My heart, the too, too feeling one,

Says to my soul, "Can it be done,

"Can it be done, too feeling heart,

That we from her shall live apart?"

My soul says to my heart, "Know I

What this strange pitfall should imply,

"That we, though far from her, are near,

Yea, present, though in exile here?"

 

The keyboard, over which two slim hands float,

Shines vaguely in the twilight pink and gray,

Whilst with a sound like wings, note after note

Takes flight to form a pensive little lay

That strays, discreet and charming, faint, remote,

About the room where perfumes of Her stray.

What is this sudden quiet cradling me

To that dim ditty's dreamy rise and fall?

What do you want with me, pale melody?

What is it that you want, ghost musical

That fade toward the window waveringly

A little open on the garden small?

 

It weeps in my heart

As it rains on the town.

What is this dull smart

Possessing my heart?

Soft sound of the rain

On the ground and the roofs!

To a heart in pain,

O the song of the rain!

It weeps without cause

In my heart-sick heart.

In her faith, what? no flaws?

This grief has no cause.

'Tis sure the worst woe

To know not wherefore

My heart suffers so

Without joy or woe.

 

Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day,

Since hope I long had deemed forever flown,

Wings back to me that call on her and pray,

Since so much joy consents to be my own,--

The dark designs all I relinquish here,

And all the evil dreams. Ah, done am I

Above all with the narrowed lips, the sneer,

The heartless wit that laughed where one should sigh.

Away, clenched fist and bosom's angry swell,

That knave and fool at every turn abound.

Away, hard unforgivingness! Farewell,

Oblivion in a hated brewage found!

For I mean, now a Being of the Morn

Has shed across my night excelling rays

Of love at once immortal and newborn,--

By favor of her smile, her glance, her grace,

I mean by you upheld, O gentle hand,

Wherein mine trembles,--led, sweet eyes, by you,

To walk straight, lie the path o'er mossy land

Or barren waste that rocks and pebbles strew.

Yes, calm I mean to walk through life, and straight,

Patient of all, unanxious of the goal,

Void of all envy, violence, or hate

It shall be duty done with cheerful soul.

And as I may, to lighten the long way,

Go singing airs ingenuous and brave,

She'll listen to me graciously, I say,--

And, verily, no other heaven I crave.

 

 Before your light quite fail,

Already paling star,

(The quail

Sings in the thyme afar!)

Turn on the poet's eyes

That love makes overrun--

(See rise

The lark to meet the sun!)

Your glance, that presently

Must drown in the blue morn;

(What glee

Amid the rustling corn!)

Then flash my message true

Down yonder,--far away!--

(The dew

Lies sparkling on the hay.)

Across what visions seek

The Dear One slumbering still.

(Quick, quick!

The sun has reached the hill!)

 

O'er the wood's brow,

Pale, the moon stares;

In every bough

Wandering airs

Faintly suspire. . . .

O heart's-desire!

Two willow-trees

Waver and weep,

One in the breeze,

One in the deep

Glass of the stream. . . .

Dream we our dream!

An infinite

Resignedness

Rains where the white

Mists opalesce

In the moon-shower. . . .

Stay, perfect hour!

 

Tranquil in the twilight dense

By the spreading branches made,

Let us breathe the influence

Of the silence and the shade.

Let your heart melt into mine,

And your soul reach out to me,

'Mid the languors of the pine

And the sighing arbute-tree.

Close your eyes, your hands let be

Folded on your slumbering heart,

From whose hold all treachery

Drive forever, and all art.

Let us with the hour accord!

Let us let the gentle wind,

Rippling in the sunburnt sward,

Bring us to a patient mind!

And when Night across the air

Shall her solemn shadow fling,

Touching voice of our despair,

Long the nightingale shall sing.

 

In the deserted park, silent and vast,

Erewhile two shadowy glimmering figures passed.

Their lips were colorless, and dead their eyes;

Their words were scarce more audible than sighs.

In the deserted park, silent and vast,

Two spectres conjured up the buried past.

"Our ancient ecstasy, do you recall?"

"Why, pray, should I remember it at all?"

"Does still your heart at mention of me glow?

Do still you see my soul in slumber?" "No!"

"Ah, blessed, blissful days when our lips met!

You loved me so!" "Quite likely,--I forget."

"How sweet was hope, the sky how blue and fair!"

"The sky grew black, the hope became despair."

Thus walked they 'mid the frozen weeds, these dead,

And Night alone o'erheard the things they said.

 

Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day,

Since hope I long had deemed forever flown,

Wings back to me that call on her and pray,

Since so much joy consents to be my own,--

The dark designs all I relinquish here,

And all the evil dreams. Ah, done am I

Above all with the narrowed lips, the sneer,

The heartless wit that laughed where one should sigh.

Away, clenched fist and bosom's angry swell,

That knave and fool at every turn abound.

Away, hard unforgivingness! Farewell,

Oblivion in a hated brewage found!

For I mean, now a Being of the Morn

Has shed across my night excelling rays

Of love at once immortal and newborn,--

By favor of her smile, her glance, her grace,

I mean by you upheld, O gentle hand,

Wherein mine trembles,--led, sweet eyes, by you,

To walk straight, lie the path o'er mossy land

Or barren waste that rocks and pebbles strew.

Yes, calm I mean to walk through life, and straight,

Patient of all, unanxious of the goal,

Void of all envy, violence, or hate

It shall be duty done with cheerful soul.

And as I may, to lighten the long way,

Go singing airs ingenuous and brave,

She'll listen to me graciously, I say,--

And, verily, no other heaven I crave.

© 2010 Christopher Kelly


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again, good job. I got nothing bad to say about your writing.


Posted 10 Years Ago



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Author

Christopher Kelly
Christopher Kelly

Long Island, NY



About
I spend most of my time (when not staring at the heaventree of stars hung in humid nightblue fruit!) writing my 800+ page novel which after seven years of research, revision, and writing, is now, alas.. more..

Writing