Explore "The Song of Jacob Boehme" by Sheila Kaye-Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The wild fowl hath not seen it, / No vulture flown so high, / The lion's whelp hath not trodden, / Nor the fierce lion passed by, / The crags and the abysses / Of that most lonely way, / Which windeth in the mountains, / And leadeth to the May.
The chymist labours nightly, / No travail will he shirk, / If he can hope to finish / The Philosophic Work. / Mercury, salt, and sulphur, / In Athanor are they, / But through their transmutation / He cannot find the May.