O Rainbow

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O Rainbow

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #216

A mere seven-hued robe lends thee pride
To trace a vulgar arc upon the sky,
Thy gaudy pomp for human awe made,
Diffusion’s trick to please a mortal eye.

But mine Beloved hath splendours seven
That sweetly kiss my occult centres,
Oh how they ripple to touch of heaven,
Am now torched by a celestial bliss.

Thus O rainbow to meekly behave
Is to earn His glance of transmutation,
For even the call of clay can save
From tiresome trudge of evolution.

Strut not then O rainbow upon the height,
Learn from Him draping his infinity in mere white!