It is Her Voice Who Dwells Within the Emerald Wall and Sapphire House of Flame
Behold! a white Hawk tangled in a
twisted net of dreams
Struggles no more, but lines the cords
with feathers from her breast
Seeing herself within the mystic circle of
my voice,
Whereat forthwith its music turns to
blades and tongues of fire
Rending the bonds and weaving round
the Hawk a skein of light
Raising the work and the Toiler to the
never-ending Day.