After a period of exaggerated quietness (brought on by illness) the Muse has suddenly come into her own again, and this new poem is the result.
EVENING; NIGHT
Plateaus of peace; calm pools of wisdom;
eyes visionary in twilight, watching, waiting;
still air absorbing cool pellucid sun.
The hero's limbs are stretched upon the ground;
muscled nakedness is shivering faintly
in misted breezes. He looks and smiles and sleeps
beneath rough blankets in the open air.
Shadows stretch across lethargic plains.
From my height I watch the darkness creep
into the fading valleys. Anguish comes;
and her sweet breathing breast
is stricken with an aching throb
that spasms and stretches the clear brown
perfect skin.
Azure light magics the sinking fire.
Nature and night inspire the rapture
as the slow sun sets, enormous at the horizon,
solemnity swaying darkening meadows and groves.
I hear the song of the languishing spirit;
I watch his somnolent form, his misty shape
lumbering from the stream. The dripping sparkle
of flowers shimmers and fades.
Soaked with dew I greet my dear companion.
Arm in arm we stumble through the dark
to where the home-hearth burns with flickering flame.
3 фев 2015
