Tell it no one but the wise,
The crowd will only jeer:
The living thing I praise,
That longs for death by fire.
Cooling, in those nights of love,
Conceiving as you were conceived,
A strange emotion fills you
While the quiet candle gleams.
You’re no longer in the grasp
Of shadows, darkening,
A new desire lifts you up
On to a higher mating.
No distances can weigh you down,
Enchanted you come flying,
And greedy for the light, at last,
A moth, you burn in dying.
And as long as you lack this
True word: Die and Become!
You’ll be but a dismal guest
In Earth’s darkened room.
