For if that which is done away was glorious, much more that which remaineth is glorious

Tuesday, 12 March 2019

L'Epifania (I)

Her light: never have I known light like this.
Six thousand suns and lamps and moons that bend
Wave streams round bodies, cities, vistas; lend
The wide coloured mirror visual bliss,

Hang themselves separate. But here within
Her bright cloud-glory quakes the holy place,
Dense in her look, air, movement, clothes, hair, face,
Cloud that I stand in, cloud me indwelling,

Cloud where my eye and mind and blood are light,
Dark-rending syllable, fiat God-sung.
Love's liquid lark-ascent hailing her dawn,
Chant clear washing the pages of the night:

This scribbled writ, light, veiled eternity,
Transfigure radiant to her epiphany.

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L'Ascensione (II)