With its splutter of blue black stars.
Thus is the gamut set
From palest orange unto purplest jet.
Then the malachite beings grow glittering bronze
With feeling, with passion, agleam, aglow,
In touch with their molten rosy world.
Green fire flashes from their jewelled breasts,
Where flame a thousand ages,
Whilst their broad pinions spread, quiver to the quill.
Forth from each beauteous head leap forked tongues ;
A rushing sound as music of a stream
Stirs the still air with sweet strange speech
That writes its meanings on the atmosphere.
The flashing hieroglyphics scintillate,
Among the purple shades, fork-lightning quick.
Between the waving wings
The younger beings feel and see and hear,
And on their brains the branded image sinks
Of quiv'ring naked knowledge newly born.
The seeming solid ground uncertain heaves,
Stretching to slender threads the pliant chain,
The easy fetters of a lessened gravity.
These buoyant beings rise and madly dance
Wide stepping as the winds, their waving wings
Mingling in one green cloud,
Which bronzing in the golden night
Drifts out of sight.
*****
