Change And An Ending

Glow, glow, thou yellow fire, mother of me--thou shalt reclaim me body and soul. Shine, shine, thou pulsing white eyes of the night--I shall quiver in thy lights and be recompounded in thy crucibles of clay. Moon! Moon! sick-yellowed in amorous need of life, shall I not be as thee--still, cold and age-seamed? Yea, in the whirl of the atoms and the swirl of great hidden forces I shall be accouched in an uttermost star, Builded anew in the dirt of a still unwombed world, Speak, dream, languish and rot again and again, Go the round of the infinite cycles till I spy, as by chance, IT, the Cagliostro, the Worker, the kneader of mud-shapes, Slay IT there where I meet IT, and lay me down, out of Space, out of Time, certain of endless quiescence for me and for THEE.