Page 11 - GALIET HEAVEN´S SCROLL IV

There is a beauty in you made of Words,
living words, fragrant words, lyricisms of starry dew that adorn lilies and evanescent roses in the morn.
In you, lunar adjectives sweetening suns,
verbs gathering stellar spark
from the pendulum of dark
falling and cohering in morning’s arms,
perched on sunny ideas as dazzling as Beauty’s Beauty in heaven’s arc.
How sings the lark!
In you dwell all of the Words, and the silent ones,
in you, little roses yet unborn,
in you, little starry seeds yet untorn,
cosmoses of them, winged, stirring the heavens earthward. Its sighs undone by thought!
Grand are your Words,
pulsating, living, breathing and adored.
Grand are they, sublime and divine orbs, making luminaries more of aether than of fjords, making signs, rings, triangles and lines, cyphering meanings beyond the known.
O Word! Once as airy as the rosy Word!
ever blooming, ever nascent in the Lady’s and the Lord’s Form,
O grand and round Word! Absolute and pure,
abounding in little words and their worlds
these — white roses and carnations in the rosy morn.
O Word, was this not you, Divine Word?
from the electric heavens bursting forth, what Rose! kindling ambrosia, consonances and assonances palpitating their sunny songs!
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