Elijah BrowningI was among multitudes of childrenDancing at the foot of a mountain.A breeze blew out of the east and swept them as leaves,Driving some up the slopes. . . .All was changed.Here were flying lights, and mystic moons, and dream-music.A cloud fell upon us.When it lifted all was changed.I was now amid multitudes who were wrangling.Then a figure in shimmering gold, and one with a trumpet,And one with a sceptre stood before me.They mocked me and danced a rigadoon and vanished. . . .All was changed again.Out of a bower of poppiesA woman bared her breasts and lifted her open mouth to mine.I kissed her.The taste of her lips was like salt.She left blood on my lips.I fell exhausted.I arose and ascended higher, but a mist as from an icebergClouded my steps.I was cold and in pain.Then the sun streamed on me again,And I saw the mists below me hiding all below them.And I, bent over my staff, knew myselfSilhouetted against the snow. And above meWas the soundless air, pierced by a cone of ice,Over which hung a solitary star!A shudder of ecstasy, a shudder of fearRan through me.But I could not return to the slopes—Nay, I wished not to return.For the spent waves of the symphony of freedomLapped the ethereal cliffs about me.Therefore I climbed to the pinnacle.I flung away my staff.I touched that starWith my outstretched hand.I vanished utterly.For the mountain delivers to Infinite TruthWhosoever touches the star.
I was among multitudes of childrenDancing at the foot of a mountain.A breeze blew out of the east and swept them as leaves,Driving some up the slopes. . . .All was changed.Here were flying lights, and mystic moons, and dream-music.A cloud fell upon us.When it lifted all was changed.I was now amid multitudes who were wrangling.Then a figure in shimmering gold, and one with a trumpet,And one with a sceptre stood before me.They mocked me and danced a rigadoon and vanished. . . .All was changed again.Out of a bower of poppiesA woman bared her breasts and lifted her open mouth to mine.I kissed her.The taste of her lips was like salt.She left blood on my lips.I fell exhausted.I arose and ascended higher, but a mist as from an icebergClouded my steps.I was cold and in pain.Then the sun streamed on me again,And I saw the mists below me hiding all below them.And I, bent over my staff, knew myselfSilhouetted against the snow. And above meWas the soundless air, pierced by a cone of ice,Over which hung a solitary star!A shudder of ecstasy, a shudder of fearRan through me.But I could not return to the slopes—Nay, I wished not to return.For the spent waves of the symphony of freedomLapped the ethereal cliffs about me.Therefore I climbed to the pinnacle.I flung away my staff.I touched that starWith my outstretched hand.I vanished utterly.For the mountain delivers to Infinite TruthWhosoever touches the star.