Where Yillah looks!

Light wells from her soul's deep sun
Causing many toward her to run!
Vines to climb, and flowers to spring;
And youths their love by hundreds bring!

"Proceed, gentle Yoomy," said Babbalanja.

"The meaning," said Mohi.

"The sequel," said Media.

"My lord, I have ceased in the middle; the end is not yet."

"Mysticism!" cried Babbalanja. "What, minstrel; must nothing ultimate
come of all that melody? no final and inexhaustible meaning? nothing
that strikes down into the soul's depths; till, intent upon itself, it
pierces in upon its own essence, and is resolved into its pervading
original; becoming a thing constituent of the all embracing deific;
whereby we mortals become part and parcel of the gods; our souls to
them as thoughts; and we privy to all things occult, ineffable, and
sublime? Then, Yoomy, is thy song nothing worth. Alla Mollolla saith,
'That is no true, vital breath, which leaves no moisture behind.' I
mistrust thee, minstrel! that thou hast not yet been impregnated by
the arcane mysteries; that thou dost not sufficiently ponder on the
Adyta, the Monads, and the Hyparxes; the Dianoias, the Unical
Hypostases, the Gnostic powers of the Psychical Essence, and the
Supermundane and Pleromatic Triads; to say nothing of the Abstract
Noumenons."