By Bernard Sexton
A youth who tracked unspoken mysteries
Worshipping beauty in a lost retreat,
Saw the vast inarticulate wonder of the world
And watching from a high, star-drenched, ultimate crag
He cried aloud to the vast unhearing hills, he spoke to Masters unseen--
"Power I would have of the swinging glory of words and the rushing wonder of song!"
Thereat a wild wandering music drifted as wind thru his soul,
And he felt the dim virginal rhythms within, unperceived and unmated with words.
Yearning he leaned to that swift-flowing life, asking a share in its birth,
Praying the Makers of Wonder, the Weavers of Dream that he share with the wandering earth,
Her making of beauty and love--her envisioning palpitant life
As she moves thru the marvelling stars with her burden of sorrow and song.
Then a voice spoke aloud in his dreams where he fell in his fasting. It moved
The deeps of his soul as the moon moves the tides till it stirred the lost music of dreams.
He awoke, and his face was alight with a reddening dawn in the east;
In his heart was a song of the wonder of life, and the words at his calling
Came flocking like birds from the marshes of sleep--then he knew
That the Earth-Mother spoke with his voice. He went down to the valley still singing.