70.) Not Of Myself Any Speech . . .

Not of myself any speech in the folds of Love

Where the songs of the morning were

Where the taken flowers blossomed

I was freed from the crippling lines of Sensennae

Filled with the joy of living by the inner meeting

In my helping sea of dark the music of the stars

And the riddled tides of mystic melodies

Advancing fast along my rippling sands

In water, pale and thin; so clear they wouldn’t see

That the meeting took to give and turned to live

The light of each, for joy, hid and molded life

That none but the few who faced it

Would dare surrender prickling pride

To grasp the proffered hand and walk this sea

What was dying made for if not for living
            The brave took the spoil, in the spoiling of their goods

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