Behold! From where comes this unknown Creeper

Along the woodland path anointed by the rising Moon?

All pain she has tinged with the blue of Heart-stream,

She has made Heaven unveil and break out into murmuring billows.

The magic of her compassion flowers in her hand,

And the thunder-roar that booms the world’s end is hushed suddenly;

In the morn that is the death of the naked skeleton

She stalks over the world, a gathered Fire, voicing her approach.

The Dark One has put on a golden garland,

And on her delicate forehead burns the flame of red sandal–

She, the Eternal Memory, from within the forgetfulness of earth’s depths

Kindles the first spark of the Word born of the churning.

The eye of the waxing Moon at night-end

Pours out of its blue the golden gleam of a dark collyrium.