Is He bound to a place? No. His ample Nature
Arises from both of the realms.
He who is wise in the roots of the willow
Is one who can weave the withies more skillfully.
Go not to bed leaving bread and milk behind
On the table: these summon the dead.
But He, the exorcist, mingles
Under the mildness of our eyelids
Their spectres amongst all else that we see;
And the spells from fumitory of earth smoke and of rue
Are as explicit to Him as the clearest logical connection.
Nothing can derange for Him the truly formed image,
Be it of graves, be it of rooms,
Singing of rings, of spangles, of urns.
© Robert Temple 2010. Website designed by Jonathan Greet