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liber963

LIBER CMXIII Yea, I

LIBER CMXIII Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou all-subduing Crown of Splendour; O Thou hero-souled helm of endless victory! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the mad rivers rush roaring through the woods, and my re-echoing voice danceth like a ram among the hills, for the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name. 6. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou opalescent orb of shattered sunsets; Thou pearly boss on the shield of light; Thou tawny priest at the Mass of lust: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou chalcedony cloudland of light; O Thou poppy-petal floating upon the snowstorm! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till my frenzied words rush through the souls of men, like a blood-red bull through a white herd of terror-stricken kine, at the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name. 7. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou unimperilled flight of joyous laughter; Thou eunuch glaive-armed before joy’s veil; Thou dreadful insatiable One: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou lofty gathering-point of Bliss; O Thou bridal-bed of murmuring rapture! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till I tangle the black tresses of the storm, and lash the tempest into a green foam of twining basilisks, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name. 38

THE TREASURE-HOUSE OF IMAGES 8. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou coruscating star-point of Endlessness; Thou inundating fire of the Void; Thou moonbeam cup of eternal life: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou fire-sandalled warrior of steel; O Thou bloody dew of the field of slaughter and death! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the music of my throat smiteth the hills as a crescent moon waketh a nightly field of sleeping comets, at the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name. 9. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou jewel-work of snow on the limbs of night; Thou elaboration of oneness; Thou shower of universal suns: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou gorgeous, Thou wildering one; O Thou great lion roaring over a sea of blood! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the wild thunder of my praise breaketh down, as a satyr doth a babe, the nine and ninety gates of Thy Power, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name. 10. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou ambrosia-yielding rose of the World. Thou vaulted dome of effulgent light; Thou valley of venemous vipers: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou dazzling robe of the soft rainclouds; O Thou lion-voiced up-rearing of the goaded storm. I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till my rapture, like 39