To a Statue of H. P. B. Sometime to be Carved Out of a Mountain


Theosophy HPB 2 419

The wind sings round your shoulders all night long;

Your skirts are ancient forest; dragon trees,

Writhed with antiquity, o 'ershade your knees

Above the cliffs; around your forehead throng

Your old confederates in your wars with wrong, --

Capella, Betelgeuze, the Pleiades,

Arcturus and Antares, and with these

Knowledge, and peace, and the olden spirit of song.

And still your gaze is fixed beyond the wane

Of time, beyond these crumbling states and years;

And still the loud and warlike nations come

Pilgrim about your feet, to kindle again

That grandeur from the ever-radiant spheres

Your grandeur lit the world with, and are dumb.

Kenneth Morris, D. Litt.

[Theosophical Path, Aug. 1931]

Thanks to Nicholas Weeks

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