The Adventure of the Apocalypse

Europe takes a look

A rove all time he towers . . . Voronoff

Will ask: "How can the Omnipotent have no lust,

When lust is the sole sign of potency?"

Herr Freud will find the eternity in his eyes

Haunted by memories of his mother's womb—

And the oneness with the Ancient of Days

An outrage dreamed upon his grandmother!

Then Doctor Bates will say, "He blinks so well—

Perfectly simple why he sees all truth!"

And face-cream makers want his recipe

Of the skin growing fairer with Light's touch.

When rhythms like singing flames break from his mouth

Even though his beard is chilled with age's snow,

The Faculty of Science wonders what

Complex of Vitamins A, B or C

Is the food of his sun-thought—-they never guess

The Alpha and the Omega of the world

Can from beyond the cries of birth and death

Vitamin him with the Golden Word made flesh.

A miracle of glandular therapy

He seems, when laughing at the grave's deep threat

As at the silly gape of a vast fool:

How shall they see the ductlessness divine

Hidden like lotuses of a viewless moon,

Secreting nectars that can keep the clay

Hormoned with blissful immortality?

And if he lays the hand which heals the heart

Of chronic sorrow and acute desire,

They call him hypnotist sending brain-waves

To drown in cool oblivion: do they know

That he awakes with benediction's palm

Sudden remembrance of the ecstatic soul

Lost in the uniustred labyrinth of the limbs

And seeking vainly for its godlike crown? . . .

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O pack of learned dolts who waste your eyes

Looking for body, body everywhere,

Will you feel never that He who made clay-form

Can make Himself a little form of clay

To unveil the Infinite which has fathered all

By skill beyond the ape-grafting Voronoff

And far above the power Jung can grant

The beast in us to sit in mind's bright cage,

Mating with dreams instead of female folk?

O gropers for the key to physical secrets,

Might not the physical open like a door

Through which the Eternal comes out of the unknown?

If you would gauge the grandeur of this Man,

Look deep within yourselves while watching him:

Not by the probing knife or microscope

Or psycho-analysis' small prurient prick

But by the ineffable trance you'll touch the abyss

Of the shining Seed that flowers in the Avatar!

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