Black Panther-John Hall Wheelock

0:00The Black Panther by John Hawley Locke, read for Librevox.org, by Alyssa. There is a Panther caged within my breast, but what his name, there is no brush shall know, save mine, nor what it is that drives him so. Backward and forward in relentless quest. That silent rage baffled but unsuppressed. The soft pad of the stealthy feet that go over my body's prison to and fro. Lying the walls forever without rest. All day I feed him with my living heart. But when the night puts forth her dreams and stars, the inexorable frenzy reawakes. His wrath is hurled upon the trembling bars. The eternal passion stretches me apart, and I lie silent but my body shakes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Black Panther Part 1, dim wisdom's by John Hawley Locke, read for Librevox.org,

1:03by Laurie Wilson. Night has its fear. Night has its fear as the slow dusk advances, and the day fades out in fire along the starry way, the ancient doubt draws near. Big shapes of dread, soft owl or moth, and timid, twittering things, moved through the growing dark on fervive wings the bat flits overhead. And in the house the death-watch ticks, the dust of time is stirred with Timmer's footfalls in the night is heard the nine of the mouse. Through the old room what phantom's throng, what shapes that two-and-frore trimble, and lips that laughed here long ago, come back into the gloom. A whipper will bleakly across the veilful country cries, from a blurred mouth, and from the west replies echo, and all is still. Now from her shell her body's prison, with the ancient doubt and terror stricken, the

2:07scared soul looks out, asking, if all be well. Three kings have been, poets and mighty prophets, shapes have cried about the world, or moved in warmful pride, and are no longer seen. From many lands their plaint was lifted, from how many ashore sorrows of will that are not any more, they sleep with folded hands. They have their day, their cry is loud about the earth who come to the one end, the zinging lips grow dumb always in the one way, though they implore, brief is the plea, inflexible the fate. Silence has the last word, and then the great silence, forevermore. Pondering these, the fretful spirit can be wilderness at quickens, with a vague doubt, and not content brood, and is ill at ease. Her being is thrown in so frail a pulse, such fleeting breath bears up her dream across

3:10the Gulf of death, and the obscure abyss. Always she hears the hurtling chariots of the hurrying blood, her shuddling breath that is the solitude, weaves the one south she wears. Now first the vast veil over heaven is rent, and bears the whole shining reality, where at the soul sicken's and is aghast. Darkness reveals the tragic truth. Her will sinks hopeless swings before the inexorable fact of things. Humbling the dread she feels. With the old aws confronted and the flaming mystery she may not speak, but pondering suddenly gross silent and withdraws. She may not bear that sight, the spangled heavens from east to west stretch out too wide, the confines of her breast straining in wonder there. Upon what brow of awful immenence, oh thought that stuns, is laid that chaplet of a million

4:12sons, upon what forehead now? Who was it, rocked this universal glory all around, of glittery worlds forever without bound? Great port, what a thought! This is a word unutterable that is written there. The spirit gazing is one voiceless prayer, careless if it be heard. Her thoughts ascend, star beyond star, height beyond aching height. Upward in adoration infinite, forever without end. So shall it be? Till heaven yields her scepter, till the throne of night be shaken, and the face be known beyond eternity. While God divide and rend us under the embroidered hymn of darkness, till the starry diadem and crown be set aside. In de Poirme, this recording is in the public domain. The Saurothal Masquerade by John Hall Wheelock read for LibraVox.org by Florence Short.

5:22Even as two in music stately and sad, the young girls' feet begin to move in a dance, and curiously, for joy, shift, and advance. So two a mournful walls, somber and sweet, all laughing things move with the delighted feet, so all things that draw light and laughing breath move to the mournful walls of life and death. She is a girl dancing in time to the tragic pipes, sorrowful and sublime, and ever she laughs back, and as she skips, mimics the mournful music with her lips. Then, for sheer anger at her own pretence, sobs violently at her own vehement, and mocks her tears. Like when the piping's sleep, she needs must cover up her face and weep.

6:22End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. October Moonlight by John Hall Wheelock read for LibraVox.org by Florence Short. Moon is like an empty room tonight. From Rim to Chili Rim wells the clear radiance of the cold moonlight and the earthways are dim. Who has departed from this perfect place? What fiery one here set his throne in splendor, whom, vanished now, the face of heaven remembers yet. Emptiness, emptiness, the skies are bare, and the stark earth no less grows vacant as a memory. Everywhere sleeps the cold, loveliness. Old is the earth, too old.

7:23Her voice is shrill against the end of things. To the inevitable, her bitter will grows humbler as she sings. Now from my breast the very soul takes flight, leaving her chambers bare of all saved lonely memory and moonlight, and song is silent there. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The flesh and the dream by John Hall Wheelock read for LibraVox.org by Laurie Wilson. The baffled dreamer, the defeated Christ, therefore your love upon the cross tree hung. O take him to your bosom, give him rest, close at the wanton wonder of your breast, O carnal world forever, well and young. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

8:30Vodville by John Hall Wheelock read for LibraVox.org by April 6-090. When to a cheap and tautry tune the orchestra cried out, frantic and violent syncopation and began, your holy, adorable body in mournful grace to move about. Through the old devious motions the device of man. How suddenly then, silenced mad magnificence you put to shame, the crowded and garish theater the strangled cries of flutin' trumpet, o mortal body bare of our flame, through the drear lands of death flower of the eternities. Lord Reviled wept in adored, be seached cried out upon. By ravin'ing lips of the ages the sacred source of things, that glimmered in threase that shone in Rome that swayed in Babylon, your moves to the vile throb of castenets and strings.

9:30O through what generations have you lured, what secret ways, man's fainting heart to be born, what splendors move deep in his breast, when delorious year of reluctant beauty sways, and the old weary rhythms of eternal love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. 1914 by John Hall Wheelock, read for LibraVox.org by Larry Wilson. I lift my gaze beyond the night and see above the banner a man's hate unfurled, the holy figure that on Calvary stretch arms out wide enough for all the world. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. To beloved by John Hall Wheelock, read for LibraVox.org by Conor E53.

10:35Life beloved, I lay my heart against your heart. Long, long I peer into the dark pool of your eyes. Never will I forsake you, or adorable one. I cannot comprehend you, but I love you. In the shadow of your locks I hide my eyes from the terrors, but you are not greatly concerned. After and closer I draw toward the dear face. See I set my lips against your lips, which you do not answer. Steadfast and grave beyond me, your eyes are burning, as of one that dreams. I am clinging here at your heart. I am singing my love of you for sheer joy. Mother, what is it that trembles on your lashes so soft, and your lips are salt as the taste of the sea? Can it be for me, your eyes are brimming, mother, even as they smile? Can they be for me? These drops on your lips so warm, dear one, do I understand at last?

11:37Oh holy drought, wine of the world, bewildering and bitter sweet, sacred tears from the depths of what wild love-welling, deeper and deeper let me drink and draw. Vana, divine oblivion, bitter is the taste of your lips beloved. Though I lie in the darkness, it often do I remember you and wonder, and the touch of your lips, how strange and how sad. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Proud Doom by John Hall Wheelock, read for LibraVox.org by G. Carlson. Proud Doom, the crucifixion of beauty on the cross, of mortal destiny, the eternal law, the thorny crown of death above her brows, fills me with anger, then with sudden awe. So dear, so lovely, her adorable sorrow, shows in the darkness, mid the tragic doom,

12:43the very heart and me leaps up with laughter and hastens proud and secret toward the tomb. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Secret One by John Hall Wheelock, read for LibraVox.org by G. Carlson. The Secret One. Here by this frame and network of the flesh, and wires of her control, surrounded, central in her subtle mesh, and secret sits the soul. Urgent through all the body, while each part obeys, and all are one, while in her dungeons labors the lone heart, to make her will be done. She reigns the forces in their wild career, that bear her as they go. Over the dark abyss, and knows how sheer, reaches the gulf below.

13:47How dubious her life, and slenderly hangs by a secret thread, between eternity and eternity, she guesses, wise and dread. And ever watchful, ever wary, set in the center all alone, feels round her cautiously, if any threat be made against the throne. Sometimes along her nerves, the voice of pain bears tidings to her hate, and frantic wrath, that the old foe again, is clamorous at the gate. She rages up and down, and two and fro in timid anger runs. If the frontiers be menaced, it is known, all over, and at once. She hears her breast of sorrows night and day, at labor, round her brood. The old oblivions, where she sits at bay, she hears the battling blood. Echoes assail her from far worlds that lie, beyond the born of these, contact and color,

14:49and the anger cry, of the realities. Beat on the brain forever, the high dream, by stratagem of speech, enters her portals, where she sits supreme and silent, pondering each, weighing and challenging for wheel or woe, all rumors sending out the emissaries of her will that go to the frontiers about. But most she loves the hour that beauty brings, of rapture and release from the crude hunger and the cry of things, the hour of her peace. Even by the interlite that floods herself, the spirit even is here, travails in secrecy and joy to tell her passion and her fear. Now to the listening soul in you who read, these lines she tells at all, how dear her day, how dark shall be, indeed, the hour when night must fall.

15:50End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Undisweightable Astyrity by John Hall Wheelock, read for liberalbox.org by Larry Wilson. Less than it is we would the truth should seem, holy and marvelous the actual is. As during her lips, and bitter is her kiss upon the brows of dream. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Blind Players by John Hall Wheelock, read for liberalbox.org by Helena Horvat. Blind Players, day breaks and the old drama repeats itself in you, behind weeks to be haunted, the huntsman to pursue, the lover and the beloved each one doomed to his part,

16:51the victor and the vanquished, the hushed and the hurrying heart. Interror and in triumph, they play it through again, the old unchanging drama of passion and of pain. As though great will has wold it that in all forms being cast, wars on itself forever, oh may they at the last, the falcon and the fledging, he stoopstoo from the sky, the lips that are so eager, the lips that would deny. When the old wars ended, when the stern will is done, meet in eternal pity and know themselves as one. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Travelled by John Hall Wheelock, read for liberalbox.org by Helena Horvat. Travelled Before the sacred beauty of the mourn, half fade the wrangling wisdom of the earth. Wisdom is beauty in the womb, unborn.

17:52Wisdom is beauty, laboring for birth. Wisdom, the ghost of beauty, in the wide, womb of the world of lies, clamoring for life. All the white beauty, the immortal bride, sits thrown upon the summit's void of strife. So the bright flower, bending from the soil, sums up and scorns the wisdom of the sage, and Helen's beauty, soaring beyond toil, the laboring beauty of the poet's page. So when the veils of mystery are furled, earth's wisdom blooms in heaven's beauty above. She is all the wisdom of the world, uttered by the seraphic lips of love. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The poet tells of his love by John Hall Wheelock, read for liberalbox.org by Larry Wilson.

18:53How shall I see of her that is my life's long rapture and despair? Sorrow eternal, loveliness, to whom each heart beat is a prayer. Utterly, indolously alone possessing me, yet unpossessed. The dark, the dreary beloved one that takes the tribute of this breast. In vain disconsolate, in vain, in vain petitioned and implored. How many a midnight of disdain, darkly and dreadfully adored. Beauty, the virgin, evermore out of these arms with laughter fled, vanished, a voice by slope and shore haunting the world, illusion-dread. The secret siren on whose coast, mid-spray of perishing song, are hurled all desolate lovers, all the lost souls, and half-poets of the world.

19:53Through sleepless nights and lonely days in tears and terror served in sot, light beyond light, the supreme face that blinds the adoring eyes of thought. How shall I sing of her? Nay, hall, all song, all sorrow, all silence of this desperate heart that is her thrall, trimbles and tries to tell my love. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. The buried dream by John Hall Wheelock, read for libybox.org by Amplie. I hid a dream amid the sands of time, and said, now will I go upon my way? I shall be free henceforward from this time, and full of laughter all the live long day.

20:55But it came following, like the midnight voice, of my true love behind her lattice bars, and it came following like the silver voice of my lost childhoods drape on the stars. Like my dead self, so laughable, so sad, so foolish and so lovable it rang. Then for sheer laughter I was very sad, and took it back into my heart and sang. And upon this recording is in the public domain. On the dead earth, by John Hall Wheelock, read for libybox.org by Rama Mariam. Heaven at last is beared and the whole world one radiant room. Black are the shadows in great pools of gloom, by cops and thick cast. The cattle browse with sound of gentle breathing, and their breath is mild and glimmering metals

21:57or beneath drooped branches where they browse. While monks the chill, shadows and cold clear moonlight all about, a single bat goes dipping in and out softly, and all is still. Silence around, safe for a cricket, lapped in slumbre's peace, lie, hill and meadowland. The shining seas lap on them without sound. It is earth's cry, lifted in adoration, the old dream, beauty is with her and her hours supreme that goes so swiftly by. Two well she knows, the sweet illusion, from no earthly shore, visited the bright or that evermore troubles her darker pose. Her heart lies bare, drunken, drunken, she lifts a dreamy breast, hour by hour, in rapture and unrest, blows the unending prayer. The path of night reaches from rim to rim, a radiant road wherein the exalted beauty walks abroad, in wonder and wildlife, upon what eyes. Lifted in homesickness, now falls again, the loveliness that hunts the world with pain, light out of paradise. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain.

23:02Long ago, by John Hall Willock, read for Leap of Ox.org by Connor E53. Ah, once your quiet eyes were calm and deep, and a wistful, with much dreaming, long ago. Your solemn lips so innocent of woe, and delicately parted seemed to keep, a secret still and said in murmur low, but that was long ago. And I who saw and loved you from afar, prayed a hushed prayer, the first I ever prayed, that God may keep you safe and unafraid. I looked up through the night at my one star, moving mysteriously in brighter raid, and silently, I prayed. While you pass singing tenderly and low, wandering through life's meadows with your slow tread, left laid his kiss on your beloved head, but that was long ago.

24:02End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Shaqowski Thith Symphony by John Hall Willock, read for Leap of Ox.org by David Gertner. My heart cried out in wonder, can it be the form from which this thrilling passion flows, on tides of beauty and eternal tone, audibly, now before the very sense of thronging thousands, somewhere in the clay of rush-alies, with folded hands, relapsed into the formless? And my mind replied, the longing that so labors for release, not wholly in that transient form was trapped, wherein we perished miserably here, but is escaped into the form supreme, a deathless body, and now walks abroad among the generations of mankind, trailing the robes of the immortal woe. And still that music poured, O sacred heart and secret wellhead of those streams of song,

25:03are you content? How is it with you now, O breast whose sorrows overflowed the world? End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Mirror by John Hall Willock, read for Leap of Ox.org by Ramamiriam. On the wide sea of sleep, I launch my gliding boat, over the rhythmic deep, unfloathing tight I float. The curving shore around fades in the pale starlight, a slumbering sleepy sound goes drifting through the night. It is the music of dreams along the horizon blown. It stirs the glimmering streams where the pale star's light is drawn. The star is shined in the deep, reflected from afar. My eyes tremble with sleep, reflecting sea and star. My eyes look up at me, out of the mirrored eyes, and in their depths I see a mirror to stars and skies, around, around, around, my boat whirls with the stream.

26:04I feel a dizzy sound around me like a dream. Where may I mourn my bark? How may I lift my head? What is that silence, hark? The sound of dreams is fled, the breath of somber lies, like perfume on the deep, night with a thousand eyes, stares at herself in sleep. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Plaint by John Hall Wheelock, read for Leap of Ox.org by Gavin Pulsam. Brief is man's travail here and transitory. His wrath that soon is spent, brief his lament. Lifted in vain against the harsh decrees of the high destinies, that move not for the murmur of his woe, even as snow. On sunny meadows as a lover's story, told in a napril twilight long ago, brief his ear even as these, his little hour of tumult or of glory.

27:07And to what end devised we may not guess, considering as we go towards the same shadows, bearing the same spark, his vanity and utter nothingness. Yet in the mighty dark, dear is the spirit, grievously we know, earth has one burden more, one soul the less. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. End of poem, this recording is in the local Jeong Syndrome, rhythm keep. And all the room is starry with your dreaming, and limitless and vague. Oh, the white square of the window-pane shimmers behind you there, framing the street where

28:13the first lights are gleaming, transfigured now and fair. Now, while the heaven of night grows vast above her, the soul from her lone dream has sure released. The tumult and the ancient struggles cease. The wars that beauty wages on her lover, dwindle into a peace. When humans speak so firmly and so sadly, and all the twilight rustles wave on wave, oh, at that smile his wandering spirit gave, what new smile and all things shines back so gladly, groan dignified and grave. The curtains by the window rise and flutter, the ornaments on the mantle row on row seem touched with a melancholy of long ago. What is it the music dreams but cannot utter? Schuman, we know, we know. Ah, George, what shall we say to you who feel it? All the half hope and passion unexpressed, when twilight heaves more gently in the breast.

29:16Ah, George, but you, when words would fame reveal it, smile and divine the rest. Oh, wrap me in Beethoven's storm and thunder, my baffled spirit with abated breath flutters upon the verge of life and death, and all my being world along and wonder dies between breath and breath. Let me endure within a single pulsing of the quick heart in a storm of showering rain, of sound, all joy, all grief, each breath again, live through a life complete in one convulsing moment of rapture's pain. Silence, the lamp light through the window streaming, falls on the listless keyboard, smooth and white. Remembered music dreams in the dull light, and you too, George, sit silently and dreaming, alone, into the night. End of poem.

30:16This recording is in the public domain. The Dear Mystery by John Hall, we look, read for LibriVox.org by David Kirchner. Joy and the triumph and the doom of gladness, make in my breast a music sweet as sadness. Shally-nutsing for sorrow and again, cry out for the sheer joyousness of pain. For all life's moods go murmuring like strings in a low chord and all things sound like all things. Through alternations of the grave and glad, yet in the end all things are grave and sad. I feel all things but cannot comprehend, and run laughing and weeping to the end of the Dear Mystery, the faded race, and the deep darkness covers up my face. End of poem.

31:16This recording is in the public domain. In the dark city by John Hall, we look, read for LibriVox.org by Paul Harvey. There's a Harper plays through the long watches of the lonely night. When, like a cemetery, sleeps the dark city with her millions, laid each in his tomb. I feel it in my dream, but when I wake, suddenly like some secret thing not to be overheard, it ceases. And the grey night grows dumb. Only in memory linger those veiled adagios fading fading. Till, with the morning, they're lost. What door was opened then? What world's undreamed of lie around us in our sleep?

32:18That yet we may not know. Where is it one sad plane? Over and over with such high and dreadful peace. The passion and sorrow of the eternal doom. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Black Panther Part 2 Space and Solitude by John Hall Wheelock. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Emancipity. At noon I watched in the large hollow of eternal heaven, a soaring hawk climb slowly toward the sun. Through gyers of adoration without end, his flight was a great prayer. In the poem. This recording is in the public domain. See Horizons by John Hall Wheelock.

33:22Read for LibriVox.org by AMB313. The sorrowful expanse from heaven to heaven, from zone to zone, from deep to hide above. The mute arch of the everlasting heaven bends over me with your unwerried love. Unmeasurable, unutterable, and soundless. Why does the east from the west, your love is wide? The unfathomable distances are boundless, infinite tenderness on every side. Against the dark strength of your huge endurance, my little being feets her baffled wings, lifts her shrill voice and wounds the commissurance, and tenderness of your large evenings. In the vast robes of your serene compassion, she hides her soiled and burning face of shame.

34:29Your solemn and inexorable passion lifts her blurred eyes to meet your glance of flame. As bread that for my daily fare is broken, the eternal loveliness before me spread. Unutterable gesture, word unspoken, in the proud silences for ever said. The sun puts forth his strength, the reaches shimmer. With an articulate rapture and the proud waters are thrilled, the fields of ocean glimmer, with shifting light and overshadowing cloud. New and upon noon, in heaven takes up his station. Day follows night and night succeeds today. Your infinite and lonely meditation sinks with the sunset down the sorry way.

35:30Failed is the best, the heaven of evening burning, reveals on the large waters of the sea. Populessness, hopelessness, the patient yearning, and dumb caresses of the immensity. What message have you left for me, what token of your alone love whose laboring will has wrought? The ferment over my head and spoken. Unto my nothingness, your story thought. Surreful is the mighty heart that reaches, around this breath and squornful heart of mine. The dim curve of the melancholy beaches, and vacancies along the lone sea line. In the huge longing of the far sea spaces, the tremulous rim about the waters curled.

36:33Wades the eternal gentleness and traces, who sad horizons around the fading world. Cloud beyond cloud, the arch of heaven goes over. Steve beyond Steve, the patient's gaze descend. The illimitable wastes and waves discover loneliness, loneliness without an end. An exorbitable compassion may I never reach the last verge and limits of your love. Beyond me, still beyond me, melts forever, the eternal margins fading as I move. And if poem, this recording is in the public domain.

37:39A new darkness must make us one. Heaven was thrilled, clean through by the trumpets of the sun. The sea burned gold and blue. The sand in the pale heat was parched as desert sand. Your wrist where the veins meet, the cool veins of your hand, made thir scene bitter sweet. Never a word was said of what must be so soon. In longing and in dread, the golden afternoon burned down till dusk was shed. It was not hope nor fear, yet something of them both, that held us trembling here, half eager and half-loathe for darkness, dread but dear. Few were the words were spoken, but in each other's eyes we read the certain token that sealed our destinies. Our wings of pride were broken. So while the waters paled around us, and the west fainted, our hearts that failed in silence were

38:40confessed. Silence at last prevailed. And now, up her clear stair, the evening star began to climb, where heaven was bare a homing fishhawk ran down avenues of air. Night swallowed up the sun and darkness like a hood sank, and the sea breathed on, in silence and solitude, the eternal will was done. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Pilgrim by John Hall Weelock, read for LibriVox.org by Am Lee. The cold wind cries across the rolling dunes. The grey sails plucked the margins of the world. I watched the rolling dunes along the barren sky, and one white waters by the swift wind hurled.

39:42Oh, where are Queen Fastina and Babylon and Tyre, and pale Troy lost in a silver mist of tears? And I, O Earth, your child, more old than all these others, what have you done to me these many thousand years? And up, this recording is in the public domain. By the grey sea, by John Hall Weelock, read for LibriVox.org. Where the grey sea lay sad and vast, you turned your head away, and we sat silently at last. There was no word to say, by the thunder, by the iron thunder of the sea. We could not speak, for the lost hope of the glad days before. We sat beside the long sea slope,

40:52watching the endless shore. By the thunder, by the iron thunder of the sea. So that, as in the old despair, I reached you pleading hands, but you sat pale and helpless there beside the barren sands. By the thunder, by the iron thunder of the sea. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Fish Hawk by John Hall Weelock, read for LibriVox.org by David Kirchner. On the large highway of the awful air that flows unbounded between sea and heaven, while twilight screened the sorrowful distances, he moved and had repose. On the huge wind of the

41:56immensity he leaned, his steady body and long laps of flight and rose. Gradual through broad gires of ever-climbing rest, up the clear stair of the eternal sky and stood throened on the summit. Slowly, with his widening breast widened around him the enormous solitude, from the gray rim of ocean to the glowing west. Headlands and capes for lorne of the far coast, the land rolling her barrens toward the south. He, from his throne upon the gigantic wind beheld, he hung. He fan the abyss for mighty joy to feel beneath him, strewn pale pastures of the sea, with heaven on either hand. The world with all her winds and waters, earth and air, fields, folds and moving clouds, the awful and adored arches and endless aisles of vacancy. The fair void of sheer heights and

43:00hollows hailed him as her lord and her lover in the highest, to whom all heaven lay bare. Till from that tower of ecstasy that baffled height, stooping, he sank and slowly on the worlds wide way, walked, with great wing on wing, the merciless proud might, hunting the huddled and lone reaches for his prey down the dim shore, and faded in the crumbling light. Slowly the dust covered the land, like a great hymn the sound of moving winds and waters was, the sea whispered at benediction, and the west grew dim where evening lifted her clear candles quietly, heaven crowded with stars, trampled from rim to rim. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

44:03The stateful beauty by John Hallwee Luck, Rattford Lebervach St. Bord, by Mila Magnificent. On the wideways the web of twilight trembling, hangs low with stars and night, the dying day in the warm west of the assembly, crowned his defeat with light. Hereby the grave, grey sea my soul sinks crying, by beauty stabbed to death. Oh, in the dusk of the world let me too die, mixed with all these my breath. There is no answer, and the cold heaven shining, star trembles onto star. The virgin moon and the clear west declining, things like a cemetery. End of poem. This recording is in a public domain. My lonely one by John Hallwee Luck,

45:08Redford Lebervach St. Bord, by Larry Wilson. Even as a hawks. Even as a hawks in the large heavens hollow are the great ways and gracious of your love. No lesser flight or weary wing may follow in those broad gires where you rest in mood. Most merciless, most high, most proud, most lonely. In the clear space between the sky and sea weel her huge orbits where the sea winds only wander the sunroads of immensity. Yet have I known your heart and of what fashion your love, how great, how hardly to be born, your tenderness too perfect for compassion, your divine strength, too pure and proud for scorn. You are most beautiful, but it is given but few to find you. Fewer still to keep your high path through the solitude of heaven.

46:09My lonely one, your watch upon the deep. Now toward the gold glow of the sunset splendor, veer your great vans. What haven in the west now draws you, while the mellowing light makes tender your dripping plumes. What islands of the blessed? Lift me, oh lift me up to you forever, beautiful terror. That your sacred might stoop to me here and save. Oh, let me never sink from you now to share a lesser flight. Even as I pray, my wings of longing fail me and my heart flags. In solitude you move down the night shore, not praying shall avail me to lift me, fallen from your faughtless love. In de poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Black Panther Part III, the Lost Travelers Dream, by John Hall Wheelic,

47:14read for libravox.org by Larry Wilson. Wild thought. Surf of song upon my heart breaks forever, where thou art. The dark ocean in my breast of wild love may never rest. Still one thought upon her shore breaks in dream forever more. In de poem, this recording is in the public domain. Journey's And, by John Hall Wheelic, read for libravox.org by Paul Harvey. Forgive me dear if I have lost my way and coming home to you, through storm and shadow of the gathering night, if I did stray, still I was seeking and I never knew how near me burned the deer in friendly light. Now at your door, hear the great dark begin, alone I stand and knock.

48:14Say, not it is too late that I have come, no take me in. Fry am yours, darling, unlock, unlock. All time to this was but a journey home. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The latest love by John Hall Wheelic, read for libravox.org by me, love, magnificent. Come home to me. Are you come home to me, oh heart of mine, but in what the lowest guys in the great hour, both to us otherwise, love had imagined it in days to be, breathfully at what strange lips and in what alien eyes have you sought mine beneath what darkening skies. Come home to me at last, come home to me.

49:16I would not know the reason here upon this burst of sorrows loose your aching breath. Come again, and yet again and say, till the eternal word, fill back on your voiceless tale of some happy quest held in the night and storm you lost your way. End of poem, this recording is in a public domain. I'll leave taken by John Hall Wheelic, read for libravox.org by ambacethe13. Will I remember it that night in May, that last sweet night in the old world long ago? The last air my departure, the dark room, that brooded round us and the drowsy breath, out of the courtyard of Belinden trees, pungent and sad, only your hand I felt,

50:18reach to me in the darkness and the beat, all through its fingers of the unconscious blood. Your life at battle in the silence told, in mortally to mine its plaintive tale, and do me turnle only your hand I felt, reach to me in the darkness, yet it seemed, in your hands touch I touched your very self. Your very presence, changeable, careless, wild, but oh how pungent, sharp with all the light, and gracious with dear bounties to bestow, how greatly granted, drowsily than at last, in the old way you begged me for some legend, out of my boyhood's record some romance, from the far world that bore me and my voice, in the sweet alien tongue, your mother tongue, move through the darkness with a piece unthained,

51:23for a grave piece was honest and the fear that thrilled the midnight fell away, the street slumbered, safeware, departing like a ghost, faint footfalls down the farthest distance side, and dwindled out forever, so you slapped. Will I remember it that night in May, the sleep, the hushed awakenings fall of dread, from haunted mirrors of horror and disdain, from dreams of terror and the mad return, into the bountiest pity of two arms, the comfort and the kindness, oh the return, forever and forever, wild and sad, surrefic with all weariness and pain, insatiate with all love, as if to slake, in one abandoned, all the desperate drought of the years

52:24to come, upon my own I felt, the wet salt quivering of your lips, and all you're being folded in, urgent to save, urgent to hide the approaching loneliness, our bitter portion, presumed in tears, the dusk swim round with dizzy color, the nightingales, beauties disdain above the war of things, beauties high pity from her virgin heights, our meeting-heart pierced with a single pong, like a bright sword of sorrow through the breast driven, and like a bruising sword withdrawn. The sun arose, fled with the nightingales, the love, the joy, and with him rose at last the relentless fear, like a harsh face never to be pushed back, between your face and mine, to all the terror,

53:25the loneliness, the irrevocable fate, in the dim twilight hugged me, and a cry, up from myself to yourself, would have rent, my hesitant lips, in the great need to you, turned for the last compassion, but you slept at peace you lay, over you in the dawn, I leaned and knew what you truly were. Then a great love, triumping over sorrow, like the light, clearing the west when sunset's wrap has waned, before the risen stars, a mystery, welled up through me radiant, helpless where you lay, in the composed of sleep, and above time, our little passion, and the circumstance of temporal tumult, self to self we met,

54:26and sun-dored reverent faintest breath of flowers, stirred in the twilight frequently, and there the pathos of our days together filled me with a new wonder, flooding on me came, a host of memories, as to one long dead, lifted beyond his living, to all seemed marvelous and immortal and benign. And now the hour was come, beside your quiet breast, I begged forgiveness for my many sins, done to you, though unwhitting, all the hurt, in a swift prayer, and even for this last, to wake you to your sorrow, and your lips, forgive me, yes, in the silence, so I touched your lids with kisses, and you woke and wept. But brave to the end, with a heartbreaking bravery,

55:30gallant and gracious, dear with sacred eyes, you let me go, with a half kiss we parted, to along the cityways, already days' vehement tumult had begun, through street and juffle d'alley, cord and square, the tireless and eternal heart poured forth, its myred human faces, grave or glad, on the old course of toil, a coral hymn from the lips of life, each face a testimony of some prefiguring love, oh the delight, the incredible bounty and sustaining will, of passionate longing, people in all the earth, and the joy of man and woman, the laughing boys, the milkman clanking along in his cart, and there, to a bonneted old woman,

56:32and their teeth, perhaps with a night's beauty sneaking home, yet solemn, all in sacred, with new eyes, I saw them then, and in each face I seemed, with a new soul to read the soul beneath, through love and pain and sorrow having passed, into the breasts of all humanity, through love and sorrow, yes and for your sake, being human, all things human, touched to love, this heart of mine made holy, and the thought of the million other hurts beyond the dawn, the gladness and the sadness and the pain came back upon me like a lifting music, beautiful and most sorrowful and divine, till a vast compassion, up through the springs of all my being weld, interrably, even as to myself, unfaithful, the exuberant bounty stooped with arms of

57:43pity so I long to do, to lose myself at last in the great self that beams upon the just and the unjust, carelessly shedding radiant light around, compassing finite hate with infinite love, with beauty, ugliness, and death with life, so through that street of pouring souls I passed, torn between grief and ecstasy, but none, guess the immortal secret that I bore, close at the fluttering heart, the fear, the joy, the very beach and memory in my blood, the exquisite sense and lingering pain of you, and of poem, this recording is in the public domain, but love, by John Hall, we look, red for leapavocs.org, by Florence, short,

58:49flowing in the sunlight here, the river shines like a glass, even as it did last year, on the hillside the grass bows as the breeze is pass, but my love is gone, my love is gone, where is she, where, and how, has she forgotten me yet? has she forgotten me now, she is too lovely for regret, would that I ever could forget, my love is gone, my love is gone, it is so still, so still, the sound of a rumbling train rushes into the hill, autumn comes again with the old wonder and pain, but love comes never again, end of poem, this recording is in the public domain, and by John Hall we lock, red for leapavocs.org, beloved, oh adorable and false,

1:00:02whom have you taken now in the dear toils, by what pale margins do your footsteps stray, or what enchanted wood, what valleys hold the lily of your loviness, what hills have known your weight upon them, what far shores, twilight comes tenderly, while evening lifts along the pallid rim her lonely star, oh happy heart on which your heart is laid, and of poem, this recording is in the public domain, the silence by John Hall we lock, red for leapavocs.org by Paul Harvey, in the evening in the quiet park we walk together, after so many and after so many years,

1:01:07we walked again in the evening in the warm, may weather, after the parties and tears, and under the splendor, under the starry skies, we walked, without sound or sigh, in a calm unbroken, as the dead walk together in a long lost paradise, silent with no word spoken, and of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Exaltation by John Hall we lock, red for leapavocs.org by Guy 3 G'davoli, Dallas, Texas. Before the dawn the very thought of you, that wakes me as the morning wakes the night, floods all my heart with most exaltant joy, the thought of you that rises with the stars, when evening wheels all glittering through the dark, floods all my heart with the most exaltant joy,

1:02:14oh life, enjoy, and breath and death of me, with every breath I draw you in like air, oh I shall die of you, of you, of you, though now you banish me forevermore, never to look upon your face again, thank you, that I shall sorrow for my love, though I shall lie upon my bed of death, and no, you have forgotten me forever, thank you that I shall sorrow for my love, oh life, enjoy, and breath and death of me, I shall cry out exaltant and lie dead, oh I shall die of you, of you, of you, oh love, I love you better than you know, I love you as the water loves the sea, I love you as the twilight loves the dark, the trumpets of the morning to my heart, from shining towers below the thought of you, the waves of evening flood my heart with you, oh life, enjoy, and breath and death of me,

1:03:20with every breath I draw you in like air, oh I shall die of you, of you, of you, end of poem this recording is in the public domain, the Black Panther by John Hall Wheelock, read for Lebervox.org by Tracey Ann. My heart is like a shady grove that harbors for a June, my thoughts like songbirds mad with love under the moon, on all the windy bows they sit and in the blowing grass, but one bird silently enters it and sings a lass, then all the rest grow sad and still, that made a happy noise, there is no sound on all the hill, but that one voice, faint with the memories in his breast, it is the thought of you, and when it ceases all the rest,

1:04:24our silent two, end of poem this recording is in the public domain. Sorrowful Freedom by John Hall Wheelock, read for Lebervox.org by Larry Wilson. Long days I bade of my heart to be released from a love that haunted me, the memory of a last embrace, a tear-ness and a lovely face. Free me, I said, from an old love, the memory and the might of their out, free to follow and take my fill of beauty and laughter where I will. Never a word my heart replied, but on a day the old love died, vanished never to come again, all the passion and all the pain. Come, we are free to take our fill of beauty and laughter where we will. Oh heart, we are free forevermore from the old sorrow we loved before.

1:05:30In the poem this recording is in the public domain. Starless Morning by John Hall Wheelock, read for Lebervox.org by Larry Wilson. Toward Starless Morning when deep night had bowed on slumber's pillow my unhappy head, through the dim room it drifted like a cloud and swayed in silence by my lonely bed. What had they done to you that dumbly so you covered with your hands you're quiet to face? Dear out of kindness that I might not know what horror there had wrought its dark disgrace. It was those hands too passionately, too well loved that betrayed you, almost pittiest guest. And to my heart in the intolerable rage of despair that shadow I had pressed, mingling in a shrill cry our grief supreme, my sweet, my pretty, but as I had drawn that

1:06:38anguish to my arms they clasped a dream and heaven glimmered with the approaching dawn. In the poem this recording is in the public domain. Phantom by John Hall Wheelock, read for Lebervox.org by Guy 3 Goodavali, Dallas, Texas. Along the edge of the great moving sea that moan forever on her barren bars, the old sad love came back again to me moving quietly under the quiet stars. Oh sad love do not smile upon me so nodding so gently with your little head. All the old wonder of your eyes is dead and the sea winds have chilled you long ago. End of poem this recording is in the public domain.

1:07:41Why is this real reality unending? Legend by John Hall Wheelock, read for Lebervox.org by Guy 3 Goodavali, Dallas, Texas. Where are you hid from me beloved one that I am seeking through the lonely world, a wanderer on my way home to you? Dark is the night and perilous the road, At many abreast and longing have I learned. At many a waste I worshipped in my heart is tired from long traveling. Perhaps in centuries to come you wait for me and are as yet an iris by the stream, lifting her single blossom or the faint trembleous, case upon the hills and we have missed each other. Oh, if it be so, then this song reach to the verge of doom ages unborn to find you where

1:08:46you are, my lonely one, and like a murmuring string. Faint with one music endlessly repeat. To you, not even knowing, I was yours. Her plainly deep burden from the delorious past, telling off one upon a hopeless quest how in the dark of time he lost his way. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. 4. The Divine Fantasy by John Hall Wheelock Red for Librevox.org by Larry Wilson Brother, from what dim world of lonely light, trembling on heaven's pinnacles tonight, is lifted your sad face of love, while you stare upward toward me, staring upward too, at that faint flame which is your home,

1:09:48between the leafy branches of these popular scene. So hushed so far. Perhaps tonight you scan your starry heaven for the star of man, high in the trellis of eternity and glittering archers' hunn. Perhaps like me, you too look up and wonder, is it fair that world of yours? Are there great cities there, populous millions, hearts that beat as these? Clear meadows and far mountains, surely seas, shadows of moving armies, thrones that shake. Does the heart thrill for love there? Does it break? Tell me, are there hushed gardens? Quiet tunes. And mighty poets weaving at their looms, the old dim wisdom that outweary time. And saints, elifted saviors, and sublime face and high fortitudes, beyond belief, all blotted out by one small popper leaf

1:10:51in the light wind of languid summers stirred. Brother, what news out of the night? What word from the frontiers of mine beyond our kin? Of mysteries unimaginably yet of men, compassed by treville of your spirit? Oh, could you but reach to us? Could we but know across the imperturbable old dark some answering glimmer of the ancient spark lifted, some token tangible to sense of the indomitable intelligence that thrones on matter? Language visible. Crane, eternity, and all as well. Brother, be of good cheer. We too have known. Not lonely moves, not utterly alone. You're sad for eternity through the dark of God, but the Confederate legions are abroad, life's flag advances on the starry way, and consciousness still battling still at bay

1:11:52holds the bright forts against oblivion. What answering thrill would round the planet run? For we are one. All consciousness is one. Whatever form it wear, however dressed in gray or glamour, in whatever breast it lift its lung. Glimmering it moves through the green way, it stamps with startled hooves the upland pastures of the world, and soars in heaven with the eagle. On bright shores it basks a sunny body, or in dread lifts from the undergrowth a sneaky head and darts a flickering tongue. It is most clear in the lark's throat, among the grasses here that couch the ant, it turns a tiny eye around the darkness, skappers in a shy in the scared rabbit, through the murmuring air wheels with the beetle, and where heaven is bare southward with the wild queen at summer's close. Hungry and eternal pilgrim goes on quests implacable,

1:12:53and from the eyes of the poised panther gleam the cruelties of its stern need that roams the world, and rinses with tooth or talon, and the hawk descends on this dunce squirrel, in the squirrel mones as the hawk strikes, darkens the earth with bones of its own wreck, and hungry again, nose in its body the old spur. For when hunger the shadow cast by death draws near, life on her thousand thrones feels the one fear, and in the lying's roar at dusk is heard the unaswageable, insistent word of urgent being, clamorous to be. Reaking and rot upon eternally mingling and mixed, inextricably blint, victor and vanquished, in one sacrament, body with body, of delight and death, it moves in splendor, lifts the shattering breath of the spent stang,

1:13:53and in the mind of man rebels against the miserable plan. Flings its frail web of thought across the path of sons in heaven, and in holy wrath, unblood of murdered brothers nourished, still thunders to all the world, thou shalt not kill, and the worm's death is in the sparrow's song. And I have seen it in the nets that throng old shadowy force in two mulchous dance, or in the little measuring worm advance, inch by slow inch along this wane stem of some exalted flower, or lift the hem of the frail butterflies embroider cloak, in gentle breathes that the sun did stroke, caress inly with fingers of his heat, or from the dog yearn upward, and a treat with eyes of adoration or a fear, the great God-man, what message Master Deer from the dim heights, beyond me where you are. In the mayor's tremulous wini,

1:14:54in the far-loin of cattle, from the uplands ward, or whale-awipper wheels, a twilight poured on pools of silence plaintively, or cry of the lone wolf beneath the glittery sky of soundless winter. I have heard the same spender speak forth, and utter the one name of life, the dreadful, the magnificent. All afternoon the passion of heaven, spent on earth its fiery fury, and blind bright light-needs of dread, and lafters of delight, down shattering depths of shaken thunder, where the delirious longing loosed its sour-ing hair of wind, and shower and overshadowing cloud, across the beloved face in darkness-bound, or glimmering light revealed, and cried aloud for anger of utter ecstasy, and shed the wild love of the rushing rain, that sped to the thrilled heart, consiting of the dim and rapture's earth, that lifted up to him,

1:15:54draws lips of thirsty flowers, and the cup of every flower for joy was lifted up, and drank and swayed. So, wearyed out at length, flagged the bright pulses, and the ebbing strength, with muttering of remembered thunders, passed down the large shores of evening. Till at last the exhausted heaven of twilight from afar, shone washed of all her sorrows, and a star rooted above the fading storm, and saw the winnowed reaches deepening into awe of gradual darkness, and the fields that lay all drenched and wearyed out at dusk of day, and the worn end of things, while far away the receding fury moaned, and now they lie in the same piece around me, and the sky holds up her stars. Now, in the rain-drenched wood, the tree-told drinks the rain and finds its good, and trills for joy, the sliding waters grieve quietly.

1:16:56Now the bat begins to weave with intricate motion on the cloudy moon, of glamorous starlight mingled in gray gloom, is dipping flight among the darkened boughs, and dreamy vistas, and the little mouse furtively hurries through the lane, as I turned up in terror as the howl goes by. On softest feathers of silence overhead, blitzed the dim shadow of the ancient dread, who did evade the cruelty of his beak bent on old lustful mysteries, a squeak, a scuffle, beating of wings, and in the lane silence, and the old rung is done again. That was air-addened, the triumphant heart in the defeated, each one doomed to his part. They play it through the old tragedy, where one present still wars, and still is warred upon, slays and is slain, while fiercely all around shakes the eternal love song in trill sound.

1:17:57A grasshopper in cricket, sleepless flow the immortal tides of longing to and fro on waves of music, endless is the prayer of life to the beloved, everywhere lifted in adoration. On dark shores beats the insistent passion, that implores the one dear breast of pity or disdain, to be reborn, to be reborn again, nor perish holy. The blind earth is thrilled as with vague rights accomplished, dreams fulfilled, marriage and mystic union. All along her brimming meadows rings the bridal song and chant ecstatic. That great heart of hers is touched now, the eternal longing stirs from hill to hollow, and hollow to clear hill, in many voices mingled, or the still ecstasy of the firefly that trails among the shadows where the starlight fails. His body's burning love, forever flows the dreadful drama

1:18:59to its stately clothes, and endless indian, the fierce carnival of death and passion, wherein each and all mix in our mingled, slutter, blend, and pass each into other, the high poem that has no end and no beginning, that the one self in all living forms beneath the sun, and on all worlds around him and above, weaves on strands of hunger, death and love. I see it all. I hear it all, and lie under my swaying popplers and the sky is fretted with frail leaves. The mortal dream is in my heart. I hear the night-hawk scream, shatter the silver silences. I hear the al's clear tremolo rise over clear. The mouse's blood along his veins has made his love note lovelier, and the night afraid, a beauty's dreadful secret. And I know soft shapes have dealt that in the darkness go,

1:20:01a furry lusts and nine hungers, small twitching things I've seen, that flits are crawled in firtive secrecy, vague mouths and blurred of the night-creature or nocturnal bird, a morphous moth and batwing, and the earth with all her burrows nooks and nests of birth, crowded and wreck of many a perished might by the ebbed waters of life's fierce delight. What's up, unshores of silence, spoiled and spurned alters where once the sacred fire burned, forms flowing back into the formlessness, in a supreme embrace along caress, mixing their bodies with the mother-mold, and all the heaven of stars around me rolled, whose brooding eyes have stared so many an age upon this theater of lust and rage. Of death and adoration, and a breeze rustles the branches of the popular trees. Dear Spark, that shanest in the solitude,

1:21:02one consciousness that in the brotherhood of all earth's living creatures moveest on the shaken ramparts of oblivion, whose starry cry across the darkness hurled makes music in the silence of the world, life whose soul splinter in red slaughter spills the blood of its own breast, in many wills wars on the one will, and in wrath or dread feeds on itself, and on itself being fanned, shines forth in song and color, gills the dress of the greenfly, and pours its loveliness and rapture on the earth. In theaters of crowded congregation sits, or stirs, watching itself, itself, the spectacle, and builds the swallow's breast, and shapes the shell, and all these mansions of its thought that are between the morning and the evening star, on earth in heaven or in the glimmering caves, and grattles of the world below the waves,

1:22:03butchers the ox, and gladden by his beat, and the young mother's downward smile is sweet, or sated on his body walks abroad in symphonies, and poems, and prayers to God, sins and has conscience, and repenting sins, and in the lowly patient spider spins its fragile web, and in these words of mine flings out its groping utterance, lying by line, across the intangible abyss of thought, with infinite passion, infinite patience rot, dread loveliness, be strong in me, be strong to utter forth your meaning in my song. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Lion House by John Hall Wheelic, recorded for Librevox.org by David Gardner.

1:23:03Always the heavy air, the dreadful cage, the low murmur of voices, where some force goes to and fro in an immense despair. As through a haunted brain with tireless footfalls, the obsession moves again, trying the floor the walls forever, but in vain. In vain, proud force, a might shruder than yours, did spin around your rage, that bright prison of steel, wherein you pace for my delight, and owe my heart what doom, what where your will has wrought the cage, within whose room paces your burning thought, for the delight of whom. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. End of The Black Panther by John Hall Wheelic. End of poem.