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<quote>The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn
<ic>
Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell
Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps<br>
Of a spent day - to wander the cathedral lawn
Of shadows in the tower, whose shoulders sway<br>
From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell.
Antiphonal carillons launched before<br>
The stars are caught and hived in the sun's ray?<br>


Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps
The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;<br>
Of shadows in the tower, whose shoulders sway
And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave<br>
Antiphonal carillons launched before
Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score<br>
The stars are caught and hived in the sun's ray?
Of broken intervals… And I, their sexton slave!<br>


The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;
Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping<br>
And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave
The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!<br>
Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score
Pagodas campaniles with reveilles out leaping-<br>
Of broken intervals… And I, their sexton slave!  
O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!…<br>


Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping
And so it was I entered the broken world<br>
The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice<br>
Pagodas campaniles with reveilles out leaping-
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)<br>
O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!…
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.<br>


And so it was I entered the broken world
My world I poured. But was it cognate, scored<br>
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
Of that tribunal monarch of the air<br>
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
Whose thighs embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word<br>
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.
In wounds pledges once to hope - cleft to despair?<br>


My world I poured. But was it cognate, scored
The steep encroachments of my blood left me<br>
Of that tribunal monarch of the air
No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower<br>
Whose thighs embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word
As flings the question true?) -or is it she<br>
In wounds pledges once to hope - cleft to despair?
Whose sweet mortality stirs latent power?-<br>


The steep encroachments of my blood left me
And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes<br>
No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower
My veins recall and add, revived and sure<br>
As flings the question true?) -or is it she
The angelus of wars my chest evokes:<br>
Whose sweet mortality stirs latent power?-
What I hold healed, original now, and pure…<br>


And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes
And builds, within, a tower that is not stone<br>
My veins recall and add, revived and sure
(Not stone can jacket heaven) - but slip<br>
The angelus of wars my chest evokes:
Of pebbles, - visible wings of silence sown<br>
What I hold healed, original now, and pure…
In azure circles, widening as they dip<br>


And builds, within, a tower that is not stone
The matrix of the heart, lift down the eyes<br>
(Not stone can jacket heaven) - but slip
That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower…<br>
Of pebbles, - visible wings of silence sown
The commodious, tall decorum of that sky<br>
In azure circles, widening as they dip
Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.<br>
 
<em>The Broken Tower, by Harold Hart Crane</em>
The matrix of the heart, lift down the eyes  
</ic>
That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower…  
The commodious, tall decorum of that sky  
Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower. </quote by "The Broken Tower by Harold Hart Crane">


==The Sentinel==
==The Sentinel==

Revision as of 22:26, 18 January 2013

Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps
Of shadows in the tower, whose shoulders sway
Antiphonal carillons launched before
The stars are caught and hived in the sun's ray?

The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;
And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave
Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score
Of broken intervals… And I, their sexton slave!

Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping
The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!
Pagodas campaniles with reveilles out leaping-
O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!…

And so it was I entered the broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

My world I poured. But was it cognate, scored
Of that tribunal monarch of the air
Whose thighs embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word
In wounds pledges once to hope - cleft to despair?

The steep encroachments of my blood left me
No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower
As flings the question true?) -or is it she
Whose sweet mortality stirs latent power?-

And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes
My veins recall and add, revived and sure
The angelus of wars my chest evokes:
What I hold healed, original now, and pure…

And builds, within, a tower that is not stone
(Not stone can jacket heaven) - but slip
Of pebbles, - visible wings of silence sown
In azure circles, widening as they dip

The matrix of the heart, lift down the eyes
That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower…
The commodious, tall decorum of that sky
Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.
The Broken Tower, by Harold Hart Crane

The Sentinel

Little to nothing is known of The Sentinel, deemed the oldest of all the recognised Paragon on record. There is no record of name, gender or lineage. Yet across the lands of the Empire, and beyond, there are several towers, walls and other ancient fortifications that seem to pre-date known civilisations. They are well-designed and, by all records, are the oldest buildings in the lands. All bear similarity in design, speaking of one architect, and most include the means to light a warning beacon flame. Yet any further identity of the Sentinel who designed and readied these towers, and what they were intended to warn or protect against, is lost to history.