With streaming costume of the dance,
And slanting in as tho to lance
The precessioning worlds that creep,
Our prima donna’s comet sweep
Slips the grasp of the mighty sun,
Whose armored might of gold is spun,
And leaps again far into space.
The sun is chained and gives no chase
Tho never is his love forgotten——-
Ephemeral, star begotten
Music of the gravitic lutes
Shape elliptical convolutes
To which pirouetting planets whirl
And as their satellites they twirl
About them, here match their ego
To this skirling, high allegro.
Each harp of closed, concentric rings
Draws from its humming, weaving strings
A cosmic rhythm. Savage drums
Pound the ecliptic plane, it thrums
And molds one all embracing whole,
A living universe! A soul.
Originally published in Thelema Lodge Calendar, March 1988