The
unicorn
(whose single horn,
a spiral stricter than a spire,
encloses a mystery: the purity of desire)
is said to be a mythical beast, but really does exist.
As
an icon
it is common
and may be green,
red, yellow, blue, or clear.
The original living one, as rare
as the Phoenix, glows sun-silver white,
but is seldom seen, preferring to remain out of sight.
The
unicorn
shuns the merely fond;
the egotist and the opportunist
he fiercely resists. He will respond
only to the pure in heart, and only on his own
terms: he belongs to no one, neither wholly nor in
part.
It
is said
he will submit
to lay his sinless head
in a stainless virgin’s lap.
Yet were he taken in this trap,
he would be given up for dead,
and so far none (or only One) has been.
In
his
nature
has been found
such sovran virtue,
beyond the farthest
reach of science or art,
that every venomous creature
—serpent, spider, scorpion—
retreats at his approach, as if in pain.
And yet the slightest tincture of his horn
heals every mortal ill or wound,
no matter how profound—even of the heart;
and even stagnant water, purified and free of stain,
will flow clean and clear again.
This
above all:
if you are shown
capable of truth in love,
a unicorn is pacing on,
just beyond your heart’s horizon,
moving with you as you move.
And should you find yourself alone
and wandering in the wilderness
without hope of rescue or redress,
one may come with transforming wand
and watch over you as you change
into something rich and strange—a golden hind
or silver swan—and when you wake, he will have
gone.
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