With folded hands laid down upon my knee,
I bide, nor heed the moment’s rushing flight,
Nor hear the city’s loud garrulity.
The charge and countercharge of wordy fight;
From these strong walls of silence fend me quite,
And I am left, in peace, to contemplate,
Alone and open to the nameless Light,
With all my depths of soul irradiate.
While speech must fail, and even formless thought,
And blind-eyed instinct (stirring in the clay),
And sturdy reason, all be counted naught,
All cast aside for this diviner way —
The hidden, psychic power awaken, thrill,
Vibrate, responsive to the Outer Will.
From: Swayne, Christine Siebeneck, The Visionary and Other Poems, 1905, The Gorham Press: Boston, p. 23.
(https://archive.org/details/visionaryandoth00swaygoog)
Date: 1905
By: Christine Siebeneck Swayne (1874-1950)
