fleshless lips of air by Joyce

His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her moomb. Oomb, allwombing tomb. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Paper. The banknotes, blast them. Old Deasy's letter. Here. Thanking you for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Turning his back to the sun he bent over far to a table of rock and scribbled words. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the library counter.
His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. Why not endless till the farthest star? Darkly they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Me sits there with his augur's rod of ash, in borrowed sandals, by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. I throw this ended shadow from me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Endless, would it be mine, form of my form? Who watches me here? Who ever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a white field. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of the temple out of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Hold hard. Coloured on a flat: yes, that's right. Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I see, east, back. Ah, see now! Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Click does the trick. You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls do you not think? Flutier. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more

Ups and downs you will see, heights and depths, in our fiery course together by Thomas de Quincey

Here pause, reader ! Imagine yourself seated in some 
cloud-scaling swing, oscillating under the impulse of lunatic 
hands ; for the strength of lunacy may belong to human 
dreams, the fearful caprice of lunacy, and the malice of 
lunacy, whilst the lictim of those dreams may be all the 
more certainly removed from lunacy; even as a bridge 
gathers cohesion and strength from the increasing resistance 
into which it is forced by increasing pressure. Seated in 
such a swing, fast as you reach the lowest point of depres- 
sion, may you rely on racing up to a starry altitude of 
corresponding ascent. Ups and downs you will see, heights 
and depths, in our fiery course together, such as will some- 
times tempt you to look shyly and suspiciously at me, your 
guide, and the ruler of the oscillations, Here, at the point 
where I have called a halt, the reader has reached the lowest 
depths in iny nursery afflictions. From that point according 
to the principles of art which govern the movement of these 
Confessions, I had meant to launch him upwards through 
the whole arch of ascending visions which seemed requisite 
to balance the sweep downwards, so recently described in his 
course. 

Baila el chaman

El sol y la luna bailan, se unen y separan, en amorosa guerra tejen mitos y leyendas. Sobre las agua el árbol sagrado crece, sus raíces penetran las olas y el inframundo, y sus ramas atraviesan los diáfanos cielos, sus frutos, mágicos, son estrellas. Formas encantadas crecen en un tiempo sin tiempo en los países de Colombia, entre montañas, ríos y selvas llenas de alucinadas mitologías, de transformaciones de hombres, máscaras de los sentidos, animales y espíritus, redes, radares, ondas, patrones de energía son su cosmogonía; Fusiones de hombre, naturaleza y animales, juego de símbolos y sentidos, el sueño y la vigilia. El shaman baila y canta, los pensamientos rítmicos vienen, mira a través del arco, eleva su varita cargada de poder, invoca los animales auxiliares, dice los mitos, se aventura por los reinos del espíritu, lucha contra demonios, escucha como murciélago, se eleva como pájaro y desciende y en la selva como jaguar, camina silencioso, cargado de poder  resplandece con la voz del trueno, arde en su cuerpo la sangre del sol y su reflejo. La primigenia naturaleza se desliza entre las aguas del gran día como una anaconda, que es el rio y los peces las astillas del árbol sagrado,  sus raíces atraviesan el mundo de abajo y más allá, y sus ramas se extienden sobre el mar,  sobre  ríos  selvas y montaña y más allá de donde moran pensamientos y los dioses.

Poema Canción De La Noche Callada de Aurelio Arturo

En la noche balsámica, en la noche,
cuando suben las hojas hasta ser las estrellas,
oigo crecer las mujeres en la penumbra malva
y caer de sus párpados la sombra gota a gota.

Oigo engrosar sus brazos en las hondas penumbras
y podría oír el quebrarse de una espiga en el campo.

Una palabra canta en mi corazón, susurrante
hoja verde sin fin cayendo. En la noche balsámica,
cuando la sombra es el crecer desmesurado de los árboles,
me besa un largo sueño de viajes prodigiosos
y hay en mi corazón una gran luz de sol y maravilla.

En medio de una noche con rumor de floresta
como el ruido levísimo del caer de una estrella,
yo desperté en un sueño de espigas de oro trémulo
junto del cuerpo núbil de una mujer morena
y dulce, como a la orilla de un valle dormido.

Y en la noche de hojas y estrellas murmurantes
yo amé un país y es de su limo oscuro
parva porción el corazón acerbo;
yo amé un país que me es una doncella,
un rumor hondo, un fluir sin fin, un árbol suave.

Yo amé un país y de él traje una estrella
que me es herida en el costado, y traje
un grito de mujer entre mi carne.

En la noche balsámica, noche joven y suave,
cuando las altas hojas ya son de luz, eternas…

Mas si tu cuerpo es tierra donde la sombra crece,
si ya en tus ojos caen sin fin estrellas grandes,
¿qué encontraré en los valles que rizan alas breves?,
¿qué lumbre buscaré sin días y sin noches?

William Wordsworth's from the prelude

Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on,
From Nature and her overflowing soul,
I had received so much, that all my thoughts
Were steeped in feeling; I was only then
Contented, when with bliss ineffable
I felt the sentiment of Being spread
O'er all that moves and all that seemeth still;
O'er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought
And human knowledge, to the human eye
Invisible, yet liveth to the heart;
O'er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings,
Or beats the gladsome air; o'er all that glides
Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself,
And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not
If high the transport, great the joy I felt,
Communing in this sort through earth and heaven
With every form of creature, as it looked
Towards the Uncreated with a countenance
Of adoration, with an eye of love.
One song they sang, and it was audible,
Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear,
O'ercome by humblest prelude of that strain,
Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed.


 Visionary power
Attends the motions of the viewless winds,
Embodied in the mystery of words:
There, darkness makes abode, and all the host
Of shadowy things work endless changes,—there,
As in a mansion like their proper home,
Even forms and substances are circumfused
By that transparent veil with light divine,
And, through the turnings intricate of verse,
Present themselves as objects recognised,
In flashes, and with glory not their own.


Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows
Like harmony in music; there is a dark
Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles
Discordant elements, makes them cling together
In one society. How strange that all
The terrors, pains, and early miseries,
Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused
Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part,
And that a needful part, in making up
The calm existence that is mine when I
Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!
Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to employ;
Whether her fearless visitings, or those
That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light
Opening the peaceful clouds; or she may use
Severer interventions, ministry
More palpable, as best might suit her aim.

William Wordsworth's LINES WRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY,

For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour	90
Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,	100
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear, both what they half-create,*
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,	110
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Swedenborg; or, the Mystic from Representative Men (1850) by Ralph Waldo Emerson

This theory dates from the oldest philosophers, and derives perhaps its best illustration from the newest. It is this, that Nature iterates her means perpetually on successive planes. In the old aphorism, nature is always self-similar. In the plant, the eye or germinative point opens to a leaf, then to another leaf, with a power of transforming the leaf into radicle, stamen, pistil, petal, bract, sepal, or seed. The whole art of the plant is still to repeat leaf on leaf without end, the more or less of heat, light, moisture and food determining the form it shall assume. In the animal, nature makes a vertebra, or a spine of vertebrae, and helps herself still by a new spine, with a limited power of modifying its form,- spine on spine, to the end of the world. A poetic anatomist, in our own day, teaches that a snake, being a horizontal line, and man, being an erect line, constitute a right angle; and between the lines of this mystical quadrant all animated beings find their place: and he assumes the hair-worm, the span-worm, or the snake, as the type or prediction of the spine. Manifestly, at the end of the spine, Nature puts out smaller spines, as arms; at the end of the arms, new spines, as hands; at the other end, she repeats the process, as legs and feet. At the top of the column she puts out another spine, which doubles or loops itself over, as a span-worm, into a ball, and forms the skull, with extremities again: the hands being now the upper jaw, the feet the lower jaw, the fingers and toes being represented this time by upper and lower teeth. This new spine is destined to high uses. It is a new man on the shoulders of the last. It can almost shed its trunk and manage to live alone, according to the Platonic idea in the Timaeus. Within it, on a higher plane, all that was done in the trunk repeats itself. Nature recites her lesson once more in a higher mood. The mind is a finer body, and resumes its functions of feeding, digesting, absorbing, excluding and generating, in a new and ethereal element. Here in the brain is all the process of alimentation repeated, in the acquiring, comparing, digesting and assimilating of experience. Here again is the mystery of generation repeated. In the brain are male and female faculties; here is marriage, here is fruit. And there is no limit to this ascending scale, but series on series. Every thing, at the end of one use, is taken up into the next, each series punctually repeating every organ and process of the last. We are adapted to infinity. We are hard to please, and love nothing which ends; and in nature is no end, but every thing at the end of one use is lifted into a superior, and the ascent of these things climbs into daemonic and celestial natures. Creative force, like a musical composer, goes on unweariedly repeating a simple air or theme, now high, now low, in solo, in chorus, ten thousand times reverberated, till it fills earth and heaven with the chant.
Gravitation, as explained by Newton, is good, but grander when we find chemistry only an extension of the law of masses into particles, and that the atomic theory shows the action of chemistry to be mechanical also. Metaphysics shows us a sort of gravitation operative also in the mental phenomena; and the terrible tabulation of the French statists brings every piece of whim and humor to be reducible also to exact numerical ratios. If one man in twenty thousand, or in thirty thousand, eats shoes or marries his grandmother, then in every twenty thousand or thirty thousand is found one man who eats shoes or marries his grandmother. What we call gravitation, and fancy ultimate, is one fork of a mightier stream for which we have yet no name. Astronomy is excellent; but it must come up into life to have its full value, and not remain there in globes and spaces. The globule of blood gyrates around its own axis in the human veins, as the planet in the sky; and the circles of intellect relate to those of the heavens. Each law of nature has the like universality; eating, sleep or hybernation, rotation, generation, metamorphosis, vortical motion, which is seen in eggs as in planets. These grand rhymes or returns in nature,- the dear, best-known face startling us at every turn, under a mask so unexpected that we think it the face of a stranger, and carrying up the semblance into divine forms,- delighted the prophetic eye of Swedenborg; and he must be reckoned a leader in that revolution, which, by giving to science an idea, has given to an aimless accumulation of experiments, guidance and form and a beating heart.

 He saw nature "wreathing through an everlasting spiral, with wheels that never dry, on axles that never creak," and sometimes sought "to uncover those secret recesses where Nature is sitting at the fires in the depths of her laboratory"; whilst the picture comes recommended by the hard fidelity with which it is based on practical anatomy. It is remarkable that this sublime genius decides peremptorily for the analytic, against the synthetic method; and, in a book whose genius is a daring poetic synthesis, claims to confine himself to a rigid experience.
He knows, if he only, the flowing of nature, and how wise was that old answer of Amasis*(23) to him who bade him drink up the sea,- "Yes, willingly, if you will stop the rivers that flow in." Few knew as much about nature and her subtle manners, or expressed more subtly her goings. He thought as large a demand is made on our faith by nature, as by miracles. "He noted that in her proceeding from first principles through her several subordinations, there was no state through which she did not pass, as if her path lay through all things." "For as often as she betakes herself upward from visible phenomena, or, in other words, withdraws herself inward, she instantly as it were disappears, while no one knows what has become of her, or whither she is gone: so that it is necessary to take science as a guide in pursuing her steps."
The pursuing the inquiry under the light of an end or final cause gives wonderful animation, a sort of personality to the whole writing. This book announces his favorite dogmas. The ancient doctrine of Hippocrates, that the brain is a gland; and of Leucippus, that the atom may be known by the mass; or, in Plato, the macrocosm by the microcosm; and, in the verses of Lucretius,-


 "The principle of all things, entrails made
Of smallest entrails; bone, of smallest bone;
Blood, of small sanguine drops reduced to one;
Gold, of small grains; earth, of small sands compacted;
Small drops to water, sparks to fire contracted";

and which Malpighi had summed in his maxim that "nature exists entire in leasts,"- is a favorite thought of Swedenborg. "It is a constant law of the organic body that large, compound, or visible forms exist and subsist from smaller, simpler and ultimately from invisible forms, which act similarly to the larger ones, but more perfectly and more universally; and the least forms so perfectly and universally as to involve an idea representative of their entire universe." The unities of each organ are so many little organs, homogeneous with their compound: the unities of the tongue are little tongues; those of the stomach, little stomachs; those of the heart are little hearts. This fruitful idea furnishes a key to every secret. What was too small for the eye to detect was read by the aggregates; what was too large, by the units. There is no end to his application of the thought. "Hunger is an aggregate of very many little hungers, or losses of blood by the little veins all over the body." It is a key to his theology also. "Man is a kind of very minute heaven, corresponding to the world of spirits and to heaven. Every particular idea of man, and every affection, yea, every smallest part of his affection, is an image and effigy of him. A spirit may be known from only a single thought. God is the grand man."
The hardihood and thoroughness of his study of nature required a theory of forms also. "Forms ascend in order from the lowest to the highest. The lowest form is angular, or the terrestrial and corporeal. The second and next higher form is the circular, which is also called the perpetual-angular, because the circumference of a circle is a perpetual angle. The form above this is the spiral, parent and measure of circular forms: its diameters are not rectilinear, but variously circular, and have a spherical surface for centre; therefore it is called the perpetual-circular. The form above this is the vortical, or perpetual-spiral: next, the perpetual-vortical, or celestial: last, the perpetual-celestial, or spiritual."
 he broaches the subject in a remarkable note:- "In our doctrine of Representations and Correspondences we shall treat of both these symbolical and typical resemblances, and of the astonishing things which occur, I will not say in the living body only, but throughout nature, and which correspond so entirely to supreme and spiritual things that one would swear that the physical world was purely symbolical of the spiritual world; insomuch that if we choose to express any natural truth in physical and definite vocal terms, and to convert these terms only into the corresponding and spiritual terms, we shall by this means elicit a spiritual truth or theological dogma, in place of the physical truth or precept: although no mortal would have predicted that any thing of the kind could possibly arise by bare literal transposition; inasmuch as the one precept, considered separately from the other, appears to have absolutely no relation to it. I intend hereafter to communicate a number of examples of such correspondences, together with a vocabulary containing the terms of spiritual things, as well as of the physical things for which they are to be substituted. This symbolism pervades the living body."

Owl; Spirit of the darkness

Spirit of the darkness; Bird of night

the more you hear the more you see

powers of prophecy are your sing

You gaze in the darkness the human dreams;

The Symbol of an ancestral queen

Who wanted to see the unseen;

Coin and knowledge in Greece.

In  sacred and  profane places you dwell

foolish and feared king

show me  the unknown and let me fly on your wing

 give me you  power of  inner light

give me  vision in the night

night falls under the appletree

night falls under the appletree
Originally uploaded by dapalmerpeter

On the power of sound By William Wordsworth

THY functions are ethereal,

          As if within thee dwelt a glancing mind,
          Organ of vision! And a Spirit aerial
          Informs the cell of Hearing, dark and blind;
          Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thought
          To enter than oracular cave;
          Strict passage, through which sighs are brought,
          And whispers for the heart, their slave;
          And shrieks, that revel in abuse
          Of shivering flesh; and warbled air,
          Whose piercing sweetness can unloose
          The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile
          Into the ambush of despair;
          Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle,
          And requiems answered by the pulse that beats
          Devoutly, in life's last retreats!

                                   II

          The headlong streams and fountains
          Serve Thee, invisible Spirit, with untired powers;
          Cheering the wakeful tent on Syrian mountains,
          They lull perchance ten thousand thousand flowers.
          'That' roar, the prowling lion's 'Here I am',
          How fearful to the desert wide!
          That bleat, how tender! of the dam
          Calling a straggler to her side.
          Shout, cuckoo!--let the vernal soul
          Go with thee to the frozen zone;
          Toll from thy loftiest perch, lone bell-bird, toll!
          At the still hour to Mercy dear,
          Mercy from her twilight throne
          Listening to nun's faint throb of holy fear,
          To sailor's prayer breathed from a darkening sea,
          Or widow's cottage-lullaby.

                                  III

          Ye Voices, and ye Shadows
          And Images of voice--to hound and horn
          From rocky steep and rock-bestudded meadows
          Flung back, and; in the sky's blue caves, reborn--
          On with your pastime! till the church-tower bells
          A greeting give of measured glee;
          And milder echoes from their cells
          Repeat the bridal symphony.
          Then, or far earlier, let us rove
          Where mists are breaking up or gone,
          And from aloft look down into a cove
          Besprinkled with a careless quire,
          Happy milk-maids, one by one
          Scattering a ditty each to her desire,
          A liquid concert matchless by nice Art,
          A stream as if from one full heart.

                                   IV

          Blest be the song that brightens
          The blind man's gloom, exalts the veteran's mirth;
          Unscorned the peasant's whistling breath, that lightens
          His duteous toil of furrowing the green earth.
          For the tired slave, Song lifts the languid oar,
          And bids it aptly fall, with chime
          That beautifies the fairest shore,
          And mitigates the harshest clime.
          Yon pilgrims see--in lagging file
          They move; but soon the appointed way
          A choral 'Ave Marie' shall beguile,
          And to their hope the distant shrine
          Glisten with a livelier ray:
          Nor friendless he, the prisoner of the mine,
          Who from the well-spring of his own clear breast
          Can draw, and sing his griefs to rest.

                                   V

          When civic renovation
          Dawns on a kingdom, and for needful haste
          Best eloquence avails not, Inspiration
          Mounts with a tune, that travels like a blast
          Piping through cave and battlemented tower;
          Then starts the sluggard, pleased to meet
          That voice of Freedom, in its power
          Of promises, shrill, wild, and sweet!
          Who, from a martial 'pageant', spreads
          Incitements of a battle-day,
          Thrilling the unweaponed crowd with plumeless heads?--
          Even She whose Lydian airs inspire
          Peaceful striving, gentle play
          Of timid hope and innocent desire
          Shot from the dancing Graces, as they move
          Fanned by the plausive wings of Love.

                                   VI

          How oft along thy mazes,
          Regent of sound, have dangerous Passions trod!
          O Thou, through whom the temple rings with praises,
          And blackening clouds in thunder speak of God,
          Betray not by the cozenage of sense
          Thy votaries, wooingly resigned
          To a voluptuous influence
          That taints the purer, better, mind;
          But lead sick Fancy to a harp
          That hath in noble tasks been tried;
          And, if the virtuous feel a pang too sharp,
          Soothe it into patience,--stay
          The uplifted arm of Suicide;
          And let some mood of thine in firm array
          Knit every thought the impending issue needs,
          Ere martyr burns, or patriot bleeds!

                                  VII

          As Conscience, to the centre
          Of being, smites with irresistible pain
          So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter
          The mouldy vaults of the dull idiot's brain,
          Transmute him to a wretch from quiet hurled--
          Convulsed as by a jarring din;
          And then aghast, as at the world
          Of reason partially let in
          By concords winding with a sway
          Terrible for sense and soul!
          Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay.
          Point not these mysteries to an Art
          Lodged above the starry pole;
          Pure modulations flowing from the heart
          Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth
          With Order dwell, in endless youth?

                                  VIII

          Oblivion may not cover
          All treasures hoarded by the miser, Time.
          Orphean Insight! truth's undaunted lover,
          To the first leagues of tutored passion climb,
          When Music deigned within this grosser sphere
          Her subtle essence to enfold,
          And voice and shell drew forth a tear
          Softer than Nature's self could mould.
          Yet 'strenuous' was the infant Age:
          Art, daring because souls could feel,
          Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage
          Of rapt imagination sped her march
          Through the realms of woe and weal:
          Hell to the lyre bowed low; the upper arch
          Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse
          Her wan disasters could disperse.

                                   IX

          The GIFT to king Amphion
          That walled a city with its melody
          Was for belief no dream:--thy skill, Arion!
          Could humanise the creatures of the sea,
          Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves,
          Leave for one chant;--the dulcet sound
          Steals from the deck o'er willing waves,
          And listening dolphins gather round.
          Self-cast, as with a desperate course,
          'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides
          A proud One docile as a managed horse;
          And singing, while the accordant hand
          Sweeps his harp, the Master rides;
          So shall he touch at length a friendly strand,
          And he, with his preserver, shine star-bright
          In memory, through silent night.

                                   X

          The pipe of Pan, to shepherds
          Couched in the shadow of Maenalian pines,
          Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the leopards,
          That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines,
          How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang!
          While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground
          In cadence,--and Silenus swang
          This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned.
          To life, to 'life' give back thine ear:
          Ye who are longing to be rid
          Of fable, though to truth subservient, hear
          The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell
          Echoed from the coffin-lid;
          The convict's summons in the steeple's knell;
          "The vain distress-gun," from a leeward shore,
          Repeated--heard, and heard no more!

                                   XI

          For terror, joy, or pity,
          Vast is the compass and the swell of notes:
          From the babe's first cry to voice of regal city,
          Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats
          Far as the woodlands--with the trill to blend
          Of that shy songstress, whose love-tale
          Might tempt an angel to descend,
          While hovering o'er the moonlight vale.
          Ye wandering Utterances, has earth no scheme,
          No scale of moral music--to unite
          Powers that survive but in the faintest dream
          Of memory?--O that ye might stoop to bear
          Chains, such precious chains of sight
          As laboured minstrelsies through ages wear!
          O for a balance fit the truth to tell
          Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well!

                                  XII

          By one pervading spirit
          Of tones and numbers all things are controlled,
          As sages taught, where faith was found to merit
          Initiation in that mystery old.
          The heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still
          As they themselves appear to be,
          Innumerable voices fill
          With everlasting harmony;
          The towering headlands, crowned with mist,
          Their feet among the billows, know
          That Ocean is a mighty harmonist;
          Thy pinions, universal Air,
          Ever waving to and fro,
          Are delegates of harmony, and bear
          Strains that support the Seasons in their round;
          Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

                                  XIII

          Break forth into thanksgiving,
          Ye banded instruments of wind and chords
          Unite, to magnify the Ever-living,
          Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words!
          Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead,
          Nor mute the forest hum of noon;
          Thou too be heard, lone eagle! freed
          From snowy peak and cloud, attune
          Thy hungry barkings to the hymn
          Of joy, that from her utmost walls
          The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim
          Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep
          Shouting through one valley calls,
          All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep
          For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured
          Into the ear of God, their Lord!

                                   XIV

          A Voice to Light gave Being;
          To Time, and Man, his earth-born chronicler;
          A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,
          And sweep away life's visionary stir;
          The trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,
          Arm at its blast for deadly wars)
          To archangelic lips applied,
          The grave shall open, quench the stars.
          O Silence! are Man's noisy years
          No more than moments of thy life?
          Is Harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears,
          With her smooth tones and discords just,
          Tempered into rapturous strife,
          Thy destined bond-slave? No! though earth be dust
          And vanish, though the heavens dissolve, her stay
          Is in the WORD, that shall not pass away.
                                                              1828.

To Thomas Butts By William Blake (1757–1827)

TO my friend Butts I write
My first vision of light,
On the yellow sands sitting.
The sun was emitting
His glorious beams	5
From Heaven’s high streams.
Over sea, over land,
My eyes did expand
Into regions of air,
Away from all care;	10
Into regions of fire,
Remote from desire;
The light of the morning
Heaven’s mountains adorning:
In particles bright,	15
The jewels of light
Distinct shone and clear.
Amaz’d and in fear
I each particle gazèd,
Astonish’d, amazèd;	20
For each was a Man
Human-form’d. Swift I ran,
For they beckon’d to me,
Remote by the sea,
Saying: ‘Each grain of sand,	25
Every stone on the land,
Each rock and each hill,
Each fountain and rill,
Each herb and each tree,
Mountain, hill, earth, and sea,	30
Cloud, meteor, and star,
Are men seen afar.’
I stood in the streams
Of Heaven’s bright beams,
And saw Felpham sweet	35
Beneath my bright feet,
In soft Female charms;
And in her fair arms
My Shadow I knew,
And my wife’s Shadow too,	40
And my sister, and friend.
We like infants descend
In our Shadows on earth,
Like a weak mortal birth.
My eyes, more and more,	45
Like a sea without shore,
Continue expanding,
The Heavens commanding;
Till the jewels of light,
Heavenly men beaming bright,	50
Appear’d as One Man,
Who complacent began
My limbs to enfold
In His beams of bright gold;
Like dross purg’d away	55
All my mire and my clay.
Soft consum’d in delight,
In His bosom sun-bright
I remain’d. Soft He smil’d,
And I heard His voice mild,	60
Saying: ‘This is My fold,
O thou ram horn’d with gold,
Who awakest from sleep
On the sides of the deep.
On the mountains around	65
The roarings resound
Of the lion and wolf,
The loud sea, and deep gulf.
These are guards of My fold,
O thou ram horn’d with gold!’	70
And the voice faded mild;
I remain’d as a child;
All I ever had known
Before me bright shone:
I saw you and your wife	75
By the fountains of life.
Such the vision to me
Appear’d on the sea.

Se desborda la realidad

Se desborda la realidad

la riqueza del aire,la calidad de la luz

la dulces degradaciones de colores

el salto de las formas

y el trémulo sonido de las ondas en las frescos y olorosos recipientes

mi cuerpo es una copa que contiene la luz del dia y de la noche

en las ondas ideosensoriales

duermo y sueño….