CANTO IV: TWILIGHT OF THE DAWN

High on Elysian clouds, eternal Dawn

Was breaking, gilding oceanic plumes

Of indigo and purple with the glint

Of peach, and dappled streaks of orange thick haze

And billowed mists were pouring, sun-spilt, out

On Overworld. And like the emerald glow

Of prickled spires which emanate at dusk

From old Cologne, so, soaring up (atop

A wonderhead of foggy outcrop) perched

The Castle, Crystalline Cathedral, LORD’s

Elysium: green diamond-glassy Church

And beryl Palace, in the steam of sunrise…

Far off, the frothed horizon swept a Breeze

Soft-voiced (half wind, half faded choir) that blew

The wispy vapors from the violet brume

And left them gold… In such a whispered noise,

Field, field on amethyst- and orchid-wool

Stretched out foreverward, east-west, caressed

By Mystery, and an angelic lull

That lost the shadowed lilacs in their folds

Like something precious. Time…was everywhere,

And I was still a boy, as Heaven’s arms

Held me in innocence, and all the world

And all my hopes: caught up like something soft

And wonder-full within a Shepherd’s cloak.

Inside, in Heaven’s temple, who could know

What Earth was plotting? All was still. We kept

Our perfect stations in the symmetry

Of ritual—calendric Feast on Feast

Revolving in accordance to His Will

And order; Angels, interspersed; and all

Awaiting entrance of the LORD, our God

And Father…

There, beneath the vaulted Light,

Our quorum hummed with song. For even noise

From quiet rustle—(feathers bristling, cloth

And robe-whisks brushing the bright tiles, and talk

From tambourines, or beating wings, or lyres)—

Made such melodious din it seemed a song

So sweet a lover of the symphony

Or violin could weep and die in…

Up,

Far up, our gentle echoes slunk like smoke,

And filled the hall—titanic cupola:

The gleaming dome of God’s basilica,

Emblazoned with a map of all the Spheres…

Beneath the arches, just before the Apse

(Where LORD Jehovah’s Throne rose up

Amid gold swarms of Seraphim and Stars)

Altar on altar spread their consecrates

Of Sacrifice, bourgeoning Atonement.

And, staring back, in ranks: one dozen rows

Twelve-thousand deep, extending through the arms

Which formed the Transept; while, around them—here

Or there—Angels reclined, and brushed their strings,

Or looked about, or nested on the plume

And pillow of their wings.

All sat in wait,

And all, expectant…all Elysium

Anticipating Him—to break His Light

At last into the room, and shed His sunrise.

Already most had come. The Elders sat,

Presiding bronze-like from the lowest rung

A wide dais’ tapering glorified. And there,

Above them: Women flanked each side, resplendent.

At right: the Queen of Heaven, clothed in Suns,

Beaming with braided locks of fire-like tresses

That pooled in brooks of flame. Her footstool looked

A sickle-moon of pearl, and on her head

A diadem, whose gems in dozens dazzled.

At left: the Bride of Christ, Ecclesia—

Dangling in pale, drooped hands a chalice stem,

The other holding tilted staves entwined

In Blood-lathed folds of fabric.

But, in baths

Of searing spectral light—awash in hue

To shame a hundred rainbows—haloed there

Beside her—up a further rostrum higher:

The Lord Christ Jesus, Son of God, was set:

His good eyes gazing on God’s pious flock

In handsome warmth; his scarlet robe, in tides

Of red, cascading woven to his feet—

A sash of ocean-blue on top of that…

From in the chancel I could see him clearly,

And often liked to look on him—the Son,

My precious Brother, by whose Blood I held

Eternity (when I was still so young

to think on Sin…). But, there I was, and there

Was all Elysium—all saints and Hosts:

All Heaven, waiting—Heaven, held in hope

And waiting—for the coming King of Kings.

And then… at last… A surge of Consequence.

Like swelling music from beyond the wall…

A tide of Meaning, as it lapped the Doors

With All—made every idle chest inhale

Like realization, fall to bow, and throw

Ecstatic eyes (first wide, then lidded-over)

In blissful ah at Ah’s epiphany

Toward the entrance of the trembling hall!

There, like the reddening of an awful heat

Upon some smelted metal, tingling Sense

Spread deep significance on everything

In march before Him: signal of approach,

which flourished Purpose for Divinity

And turned all ambiance to Sign.

For on

He comes, and makes surroundings substantive,

As if the Doors that hid Him still were keys

To living’s Mysteries. He comes…He comes!

All Heaven—on its knees! The Seraphim

are singing, cherubs chanting, bending wings—

To see the LORD! to see the awesome LORD!

And, with the mystics, bask in His existence!

At last, the Holy Doors—they groaned ajar—

Striking adjacent walls to roll their roar

And rumbling, deep and echoed through the hall—

I n g l o w s t h e G o d !

And all was light and laureled

Look! His flaming robes stream out beyond His heels

In billows gulping like a sonic-boom

Or burl!—and, at His Coming, all the room

Fell low—which matched this lightning of His entrance

With thunder of their own.

Upon the air

Lord יהוה glides, as, through a choral wind

Of holy incantations—murmuring

Like bees, or women’s voices, waterfalls,

And nerves—all emanating from His sides—

God’s placid gaze swept forward like a sun,

And yet more certain, yet more terrifying:

A bearded Diamond in an aura-light

That burned…

Still, on He comes and, at His Feet:

Enigma Creatures: churning chariots

Of Mysteries—face lion, calf, or ox

(and winged like eagles)—while, like flowing dye,

Jehovah floods the aisle to take His Throne—

And the Glory of God engulfed the room.

I watched Him then ascend the silver dais,

Washing His Splendor on the burning chair

As blazing Mysteries lapped round the base.

Then—bars of light!—like licking winds, His robes—

He turned to take the thousands in His Sight

And golden view: a praising panoply

Of Heaven’s endless retinue, all staggered

In strata there: our sea awaiting sign—

Whose nodding blessing from Divinity

Would start the feast.

The breathless, gravid air

Grew thick with expectation…

Till—at last—

The Monarch dimmed: and gave the sign.

Then rings:

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

“B e n e d i c t u s D e u s i n S a e c u l a!”

It sings from thousands and from thousands there!

Filling the hollows like a deep cascade—

Whose tapered fading-off, when it should end,

Commenced the Feast of Seven Sleepers and

The decrescendoed echoes of “Amen.”

So banquets Heaven.

Now, Elysium

Swells phosphorescent and aglow with Light,

As high-encircling crowns of Seraphim

Turn ring on ring, concentric and entwined,

And, like a golden galaxy, or swirls

Of the atomic satellites’ ellipse,

Halo the LORD, and gild the Apse’s niche

With auras of eternity.

…And, yet…

There Yahweh sat in splendor, Lion-like—

Ancient of Days, and amber-radiant

(As centuries of Christian precedent

And fixed mechanics of the world prescribed)—

But were there… faults? some weaknesses just God,

With a forbidding sense, was vexed to feel,

And all His troubled Powers tremble at?

Perhaps, in secret niches of His Mind

(His Apse of thought: Holy of Holies kept

Partitioned off from Seraphim and Saints,

And even from the Son himself)—the LORD’s

Serenity had been profaned by dreams

Of fear too unbecoming of a God?

Did signs or omens (recently come on)

Presage some ill or deep disaster worth

The disconcertion of an Emperor

Whose Being turned the Universe…?

In thinking on it now, I cannot say.

But, as I stood before Him then, with all

The singers of my choir, I still recall

Some awkward trepidation as I rose

To hymn His liturgy.

The Dawn was bright

As, from my station in the chancel choir,

We rose to sing, catching the coloring rays

That flood His painted windows. Then, we plucked

A prelude from our harps and lyres, and called

The Spirit down.

Invoked, the high Dove rises,

Swoons from Its hovered radiance above

Our Father’s Head, and, gliding downward, nests

In air atop our woven garlands—burst

From feathers! to a rippling Tongue of Fire…

So crowned, as all the dawnlight prismed in,

We sang our missal: John’s Apocalypse

And Revelation’s images: of Seals

And Trumpets, Riders of the End, and man’s

Most ancient Adversary plummeted

To Hell from war in Heaven. Then, the Earth

And old Elysium destroyed by Him

(Too worn, too decadent): the light! the light!

The blossoming! the glorious! the new

Elysium across the Sky! to rule

Forever after the rebirth!

And then

(With Hallelujahs and the set “Amen”),

Our vision of the vision of the ending

Ended. And all were pleased.

—Except…the LORD,

Who seemed…unjoyed? (if imperceptibly)

At lines extolling endless reign, and power

Forever undiminishing…

Just then, though,

The Doors FLARED open!—shattering our calm

And lurching all attention toward the entry!

The nestled Zoa, roused in watch, at once

Flew up from Throne their bristling flanks and pulsed

To meet the interruption—power’s chill

Ablaze with holiness as, toward the Doors,

The Living Creatures homed their hundred eyes

And lit the open entrance:

But… in flocked

No enemy—but chief defense for Him

And all Elysium! Saint Michael, Prince

Of Cosmic Powers (flanked by Seraphim

And highest of His Orders) fluttered down

From Heaven’s portals. Then, once on the ground,

The armored Legion stooped, and bowed, and paid

Their proskynesis to the LORD. This served

(And hulking wingspans bended in regard),

Light parted, and, blazing, Michael kneeled with plume

in hand, and spoke:

“DEAR HOLY LORD AND GOD,

ETERNAL PERFECT PROVIDENCE, HIGH KING,

OMNISCIENT AND OMNIPOTENT, THE ONE

AND SOVEREIGN EXCELLENCE. FOREVER, PRAISE.

AMEN.

I PRAY THY EVERFLOWING GRACE

IMMERSE OUR TRESPASS ON THIS SACRED FEAST,

WHICH OTHERWISE SHOULD PASS UNMARRED, UNCHANGED,

UNINTERRUPTED—BUT FOR PUBLISHING

WHAT NEWS THY WISDOM CAN’T BUT KNOW, AND YET

OUR DUTY TO THY GLORY TO CONVEY…”

(He paused and, lifting up his gaze, breathed deep.)

“AN ARMY MARCHES ON YOUR WALLS, MY LORD,

AND MEANS TO WAR WITH US. NOW, AS WE SPEAK,

A HUMAN THRONG, IN IMPIOUS CAMPAIGN,

STORMS ANGRY FROM THE NORTH, AND SEEKS A SIEGE:

TO SACK YOUR HOLY CITY OF HIGH STARS

AND BURN DOWN HEAVEN’S HEIGHTS IN SACRILEGE.”

So the Archangel spoke, and Paradise

Fell mute…

…A sudden gust of baffled breath

And stunned confusion swept us, wondering,

As all at feast—made stupid by the news—

Wrinkled their brows, and turned wide looks to LORD…

But brimstone-eyed Jehovah stood, and cast

A reassuring Purpose through the Light

He emanated, glaring down the gloam

Of this most strange report.

Then, with a face

Unchanging (save for slitting eyes to gems

And looking deep—so deep and curious,

It seemed impossible-uncertainty

First passed before the lens of Consciousness

Omnipotent), the LORD Jehovah

turned…

And suddenly I found myself alone.

There—in my room—my single cloister cell

(allotted, as to all, our many mansions)—

there, in a blink, I found myself alone.

But

what had happened…?

Everything was still.

The Feast was over, and Elysium

was muted, quiet… Everything was soft

as usual—but

why this strange digression?

How—why this deviation from the norms

and perfect clockwork of Eternity…?

It made me shiver.

Rising up from psalms

and hymnals lying open at my feet

(my pious papers spread the way I’d left them),

I ran toward my window, where I gazed—

through stained-glass Parables of fig-trees, Christ,

and faith—upon the cloudfields fading off

to Dawn

—and saw a brooding thunderhead

move steadily.

The whole horizon, dark

and swollen, plumed a storm-swell toward the Gates

of Heaven—light upon us, and a gloom

progressing,

cloud on cloud on cloud.

I ran.

Out of my room, and running corridor

to corridor, I ran

—to find my God!

Rising through Heaven’s halls—and up its tiers—

through climbing light, and shimmering crystal—I,

with harp in hand, ascended worriedly

its heights…

scared lamb in search of Shepherds…

till

I found Him,

on the Wall.

There, where the scope

of Paradise spread open, all directions—

with vastest vistas on auroral fog

(and Eden, Heaven’s cloister, far within)—

there, with His Angels, Michael, Seraphim,

I saw Him: God my Father, staring out

on all that darkness in the distance…

Oh,

they know its cause already: it’s the storm

of an invasion—dormant fogs raised up

by feet of armies, marching, marching…

I

hear angels whisper, speaking names like Faust

and Job… hear numbers in the millions told of…

fathers and mothers… armies, children… young

and old, philosophers and artists, rich

and poor—a modern world, a modern world…

and all intent on burning down His Throne.

I had no time to think of what it meant,

since then: worst of these omens! worst of all:

there, as They looked (and overviewed the storm

mankind was forging), endless Dawn—eternal,

unchanging Sunrise—Dawn—our Dawn—reversed

its ever-upward course: with sun, for once,

descending. Light, obliquer for the turn,

now stretched the shadows long, as the first dark

of the first dusk shed crimson on the clouds,

a sinning blush

with twilight coming on.

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