Robert Rittel

05 February 1960


In the twilight play of mysterious clouds of air,
the image of Aphrodite's revealed its golden glare.
Transcending through the landscape of cloud, beautiful, serene and proud,
in that splendor of light, she looks like the empress of the night.
I look, but recognize no more familiarity to my view,
my pathway became an enchanted avenue.
The very ground beneath my feet,
glistening marble paves the silent street.
On either side, behind and before,
the ocean stretches like a golden floor.
A moving light of amethyst,
shimmer reflections through the dome of mist.
In this beauties enlighten sphere,
she spoke to me so fare.
"Nothing will perish utterly, but only perish to revive again".
Of hearts, that long have ceased to beat,
remain the memories in hearts that are, or are to be.
Names that once filled the world with creative muse,
build in verses, paintings or sculpture still amuse.
Echoes of drama despair and search for the ultimate love,
sometimes seen by some mirage from above.
Dreams or illusion, call them what you will,
divine senses will find its fill.
That rapture of the heart has a golden string at hand,
holding on to it will lead us to the promised land.
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