the Equinox - The Hermetic Library
the Equinox - The Hermetic Library the Equinox - The Hermetic Library
282 THE EQUINOX SIMPLEX. Behold again: an empty well— A crystal pure—a dry sea— Birds—a dead bird, a live bird, a phœnix— A dying immortal harlot-goddess— A cage (alas! it broke open In the year of the sixteenth Funeral). THE MOB. Down with the birds! SIMPLICIOR. Yet, neither Bird could re-enter it! THE MOB. Beer and Cup-ties! SIMPLICISSIMUS. [Pointedly.] The Spirit of Persistency conceived! THE MOB. Down with the Spirits! SIMPLEX. Behold again, Impatients, and decide: Two centres I saw, that were but one— A thick set of hair upon a white skull— A spider patient (with my qualities), Slowly webbing the slightly soiled cavities— A lute, a rapturing lute aux sons clairs, (But Oh, He, Ho, for three weary years The lute hath no song!)—
EHE! THE MOB. Down with the foreign bands! SIMPLEX. [Pale, but firm.] A rotten corpse, Coming to life again (for it cried)— A deep, deep hole—a beardy man—and Linking, SIMPLICIOR. [Radiant.] Clearly linking, SIMPLEX. the 6 (or 7— The Spider counting as the skull's paying guest) The Stream fro Heaven unto Us poured— THE MOB. Down with 'em! SIMPLEX. [Smiling.] Proving our love's old age in a youth renewed! SIMPLICISSIMUS. [Exultant.] The Spirit of Persistency growing! THE MOB. Hooray! GEORGE RAFFALOVICH. 283
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282<br />
THE EQUINOX<br />
SIMPLEX.<br />
Behold again: an empty well—<br />
A crystal pure—a dry sea—<br />
Birds—a dead bird, a live bird, a phœnix—<br />
A dying immortal harlot-goddess—<br />
A cage (alas! it broke open<br />
In <strong>the</strong> year of <strong>the</strong> sixteenth Funeral).<br />
THE MOB.<br />
Down with <strong>the</strong> birds!<br />
SIMPLICIOR.<br />
Yet, nei<strong>the</strong>r Bird could re-enter it!<br />
THE MOB.<br />
Beer and Cup-ties!<br />
SIMPLICISSIMUS. [Pointedly.]<br />
<strong>The</strong> Spirit of Persistency conceived!<br />
THE MOB.<br />
Down with <strong>the</strong> Spirits!<br />
SIMPLEX.<br />
Behold again, Impatients, and decide:<br />
Two centres I saw, that were but one—<br />
A thick set of hair upon a white skull—<br />
A spider patient (with my qualities),<br />
Slowly webbing <strong>the</strong> slightly soiled cavities—<br />
A lute, a rapturing lute aux sons clairs,<br />
(But Oh, He, Ho, for three weary years<br />
<strong>The</strong> lute hath no song!)—
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