ONEIRIC HYMN

TEMPO: 137.5

Among a flume and a flowering bed
and I laid watching stars dim —
To space athirst and by darkness —
Growing and desiring — an ardent one.

The moon was veiled by darkened clouds,
on that one strange Summer night,
in the grove startled by diffusing light,
I witnessed the sky slowly strip.

On this barrow stretching a dewy scree,
wearing its coat of silver light,
the cobblestones alike stars of night,
glint, icy in the shadows yet warm.

Such charm from that laurel scent,
pervading with the breeze—so soft,
darting in the branches and hummed,
by the nest of two sparrows asleep,
with a muffled cheep, fondly, they replied.

A rill meandering of moonlit flux,
partake in singing to this vaulted night:
Heed to the spider in shade of sight,
wily weaving his silk, soft and fortress-like
on one but petaled bed.

The shy orbs were led by fate of love,
I met, besotted, into a dunce I sunk,
thunderstruck, like some wild bird
relenting, ask, where did my sanity go?

As ascetic on the earthly I had been,
secluded, naught but peace I sought,
I foresaw in some innocent eyes,
vengeance dole in timeless lust.

How swiftly my reasoning smoldered,
to her staid tendering, in bashful eyes,
embers she strewed, my heart concealed,
so I may grasp this simple thought.

So vigil, I keep in these nightly glooms,
to bring afire all lanterns of love.
Ironwood, red in every hue flushed,
ichor quenched, these verses— too;
as watered by my fevering soul
generous in her sweated drops.

The God of love—the glances shot
from the dark quivers of her orbs,
arrows now blossoms in my chest,
so terse I scribe my tender verse;
godly as her lofty hip.

In my dreams often she comes,
carrying that smile-sword,
softly slow-piercing my heart,
and averts then in such pique,
with ire so vengeful and harsh,
passing by with a graceful lithe,
feet stomping in scornful awe;
as she sullies my solemn reverie.