Holy Longing

Tell no one but the wise ones, For the mob will now certain mock: I do praise the living essence That longs for death in flame. In the cool of lovers’ night That begat you as you begat, Strange presentment overcomes you As the quiet candle burns. No more do you stay entrapped In the shadows of the dark, And you’re ripped with longing For a higher form of love. No distance makes you give up, You come flying and in trance, And then thirsting for the light, Moth, you are burned. And till you have not that, Then this: Die, and be transformed! You shall be but a sorry guest On the darkling earth.