A Mantra

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #58

There is a strange rapture in my solitary heart,
A daemon’s voice heard in notes of rhythmic bliss.
I am in a strange company of a Godhead wide,
My soul joyous and enraptured of his kiss.

He moves measureless of his fiery might
In the moment of my enamoured hour,
Like a fiery dance of a myriad delight,
A nude quadruped frolicking on all four.

Twixt the brows of a mediating silence
He blissfully is, like a formless seraph of love:
He fills my meditating soul with his liquid grace,
My being now a rare blend of his immortality true.

O Thy hour comes amid the sacred cries of wingless angels;
Only I hear the sacred word of Thy descending grace!