Thursday, February 07, 2008

Poetry Thursday

Okay Algernon, you got more then you bargained for. Namely, poetry and the solution to our earlier dilemna*. (Sorry to bump your post off Lewis (that looks really cool btw... I really couldn't forgive myself if I didn't post poetry, when I actually had remembered).

Okay, Days of the Week:
"Gogol, or Tuesday, had his simplicity well symbolised by a dress designed upon the division of the waters , a dress that seperated upon his forehead and fell to his feet, grey and silver, like a sheet of rain."

"The Professor, whose day was that on which the birds and fishes- the ruder forms of life- were created, had a dress of dim purple, over which sprawled goggle-eyed fishes and outrageous tropical birds, the union in him of unfathomable fancy and of doubt."

*For anyone who was wondering... in the process of discussing the seven days, Algernon and I simply could not remember what was the Professor's costume for the final whatchamacallit. So I looked it up, in case anyone was wondering(:

Alright, that digressions over, now to poetry.

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning,
Michael of the Army of the Lord,
Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael,
Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael,
Under the fullness of the white robes falling,
Gird us with the secret of the sword.

When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven,
Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky,
Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest,
Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High:
Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation
Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn:
Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon
Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.

Down through the universe the vast night falling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!)
Far down the universe the deep calms calling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!)
Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness,
In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness
In the huge holy sempiternal silence
In the beginning was the Word.

When from the deeps of dying God astounded
Angels and devils who do all but die
Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow,
Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly,
Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions
Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim,
Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting
God beyond God and greater than His Name.

Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!)
Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!)
Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting
Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting
Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring
Ready as when it rang upon the targe.

He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth:
He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes:
Shall he be softened for the softening of the cities
Patient in usury; delicate in bribes?
They that come to quiet us, saying the sword is broken,
Break man with famine, fetter them with gold,
Sell them as sheep; and He shall know the selling
For He was more than murdered. He was sold.

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Mustering,
Michael of the marching on the mountains of the Lord,
Marshal the world and purge of rot and riot
Rule through the world till all the world be quiet:
Only establish when the world is broken
What is unbroken is the word.


Algernon said...

Thanks M.P.! I like the poem! Dim purple...I must remember this.

Algernon said...

By the by. I forgot to give my compliments. That was amazingly fast!

Ria said...

I'm glad you liked it M.S.(: