Joseph Campbell - On Waking

SLEEP, gray brother of death, <br />Has touched me, <br />And passed on. <br /> <br />I arise, facing the east— <br />Pearl-doored sanctuary <br />From which the light, <br />Hand-linked with dew and fire, <br />Dances. <br /> <br />Hail, essence, hail! <br />Fill the windows of my soul <br />With beauty: <br />Pierce and renew my bones: <br />Pour knowledge into my heart <br />As wine. <br /> <br />Cualann is bright before thee. <br />Its rocks melt and swim: <br />The secret they have kept <br />From the ancient nights of darkness <br />Flies like a bird. <br /> <br />What mourns? <br />Cualann’s secret flying. <br />A lost voice <br />In endless fields. <br />What rejoices? <br />My voice lifted praising thee. <br /> <br />Praise! Praise! Praise! <br />Praise out of the trumpets, whose brass <br />Is the unyoked strength of bulls; <br />Praise upon the harp, whose strings <br />Are the light movement of birds; <br />Praise of leaf, praise of blossom, <br />Praise of the red-fibred clay; <br />Praise of grass, <br />Fire-woven veil of the temple; <br />Praise of the shapes of clouds; <br />Praise of the shadows of wells; <br />Praise of worms, of fetal things, <br />And of things in time’s thought <br />Not yet begotten. <br />To thee, queller of sleep, <br />Looser of the snare of death.<br /><br />Joseph Campbell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-waking-4/