XII
The uninstructed and blaspheming man
Looks on the world and sees it void and base.
Let him endure its horror as he can!
There is no help for his unhappy case.
The love-taught magus, the hermaphrodite,
Knows how to woo the Mother, and awake her;
Beholding, in the very self-same sight,
The self-illumined image of the Maker.
I love, and you are wise; our spirits dance
A merry measure to the music moving
In waves through that mirific brilliance.
Will you first tire of wit, or I of loving?
Tire? O thou sea of love, thy ripples run
Into themselves, to my serener sun!
Looks on the world and sees it void and base.
Let him endure its horror as he can!
There is no help for his unhappy case.
The love-taught magus, the hermaphrodite,
Knows how to woo the Mother, and awake her;
Beholding, in the very self-same sight,
The self-illumined image of the Maker.
I love, and you are wise; our spirits dance
A merry measure to the music moving
In waves through that mirific brilliance.
Will you first tire of wit, or I of loving?
Tire? O thou sea of love, thy ripples run
Into themselves, to my serener sun!
— 94 —
