Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #98
What use these, encumbrances of body
And mind and vital, even vacillating heart?
What shame is there to the soul really,
For it burns in bare splendour sun-nude!
Shy is the body, the mind in awe can shrink
And vital crouch in alarm at oceanic light,
But who can shackle the soul lovestruck
That leaps to its Beloved arriving to sight?!
The raptures approach masked plainly now,
Whose constraint or what norm can curtail
The soul’s elan that does inevitably grow
For possession by its Lord part and whole!
Ah, what inconceivable fortune art Thou to me,
Blending Sire and Lord and Beloved in a single body!