Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night
Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light,
Is the flame of life so fickle and wan
That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
O man! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way,
And the billows of clouds that around thee roll
When the grey lake-water rushes
Past the dripping alder-bushes,
And the bodeful autumn wind
In the fir-tree weeps and hushes, --
When the air is sharply damp
Round the solitary camp,
And the moose-bush in the thicket
Glimmers like a scarlet lamp, --
When the birches twinkle yellow,
And the cornel bunches mellow,
1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...
3 Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient ...
4 Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
5 But nothing happens.
6 Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
7 Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
Summer breezes blow-it's the lady of the wind,
Trailing sweet fragrances, all around the bend.
Her gown is hued mists, stars are in her eyes,
Blooms frolic to her tune, under sapphire skies.
A seasoned traveler, she lives in dreamy clouds,
Or in green jungles, among the colorful crowds,
Or on hectic city streets, at the verge of sunset,
Whistling gaily and walking, in lovely silhouette.
House of sun,
where the colors sing.
and adventures in perfume,
at sunset or noon.
Spring air wafts,
warm through the window-
Peach rose prance!
I was a professional flutist, and performed in orchestras and symphonies,
To express the sheer joy of living, like the birds sing to summer's breeze.
Becoming accomplished took many years, and I'd played since childhood,
As a late afternoon sun's grown adept, at leaving a colorful neighborhood.
I often played at social gatherings, as I loved seeing merry people dance,
Like stars dance in the silken midnight, vivifying cool darkness expanse.
I was never as happy or content, as when dulcet melodies were playing,
mountain breeze wafting
masses of colorful blooms
on the lapis sea
the wind's at last in my sails
wind's in the orchard
animating still life fruit
of green breeze in leaves,
is everywhere that I turn.
Sun falls through the trees.