Apr 25, 2013
Who is this maiden robéd for a bride,
White shoulders and bright brows adorable,
The flaming locks that clothe her, and abide,
As God were bathing in the fire of Hell?
They change, they grow, they shake
As sunlight on the lake:
They hiss, they glisten on her bosom bare.
O maiden, maiden queen!
The lightning flows between
Thy mountain breasts, too magically fair.
Draw me, O draw me to a dreaming death!
Send out thine opiate breath,
And lull me to the everlasting sleep,
That, closing from the kisses of disdain
To ecstasy of pain,
I may sob out my life into their dangerous deep.
For if I die, it is not Tannhäuser,
Rather a spark of supreme white light
That dwelt and flickered in him in old time;
That Light, I say, that hides its flame awhile
To shine more fully — to redeem the world!
I say, then, "I"; and yet it is not "I"
Distinct, but "I" incorporate in All.
I am the Resurrection and the Life!
The Work is finished, and the Night rolled back!
I am the Rising Sun of Life and Light,
The Glory of the Shining of the Dawn!
I am Osiris! I the Lord of Life
Triumphant over death —
O Sorrow, Sorrow, Sorrow of the World!