Silver and Roses, Henna and Myrrh

 

 

To a Magician

 

When his long course the hotfoot Sun has run

And in his western catafalque lies dead,

When bats their eery mission have begun

And shadows dance upon the Moon’s wan head,

Declaring gravely Hecate’s dark hours,

And summoning the minions of the night

To steal to their clandestine haunts and towers

And witchcraft’s incantations to recite,

On alchemy bethinking, I must think

Of e’en a fairer alchemy I know

Whence piety and honor might not shrink

And whither love and glory fain would go.

To fame I now thine alchemy uphold

Which has my heart of lead changed into gold.

 

                        Sunday, January 26, 1969

 

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