Short the distance and smooth the road,
Not too far from a man’s abode
Seek, you shall find it; far and nigh
Stretches the Land of Sorcery.
Where never a sense of the world beyond
On the soul bewitch’d intrudes.
But to soft spells only is sense in bond.
And, if illusion, delight deludes;
Where the heart does not yearn
Past what eyes discern.
Or far in some land remote
Perchance unfriendly, at least unknown
Picture the bliss and the vision alone;
Here let me anchor a stranded boat,
And taste the joy of the heart and eye
In the Blessed Life of Sorcery.
Arthur Edward Waite (1857 – 1942)
“A Book of Mystery and Vision”
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