vel Lapidis Lazuli
Prologue of the Unborn
- Into my loneliness comes --
- The sound of a flute in dim groves that haunt the uttermost hills.
- Even from the brave river they reach to the edge of the wilderness.
- And I behold Pan.
- The snows are eternal above, above --
- And their perfume smokes upward into the nostrils of the stars.
- But what have I to do with these?
- To me only the distant flute, the abiding vision of Pan.
- On all sides Pan to the eye, to the ear;
- The perfume of Pan pervading, the taste of him utterly filling my mouth, so that the tongue breaks forth into a weird and monstrous speech.
- The embrace of him intense on every centre of pain and pleasure.
- The sixth interior sense aflame with the inmost self of Him,
- Myself flung down the precipice of being
- Even to the abyss, annihilation.
- An end to loneliness, as to all.
- Pan! Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan!
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