For a long time, the focus of my life had been my evenings. Now all that has changed, and whereas I once measured days by quiet hours under the stars, I now find myself most alive in the sun and rain. This has little to do with the circumstances of day and night, and a great deal to do with the people that populate those circumstances.
Succession
The night was once a friend, but now the day
is better, for he holds my only heart
in consequence and ornaments the way
I ought to walk. A fitter compass chart
I could not hope to follow, for the stars,
though radiant in shadow, show a flaw
when likened to a sunny light, as ours.
Upon the glowing vision, they withdraw
and linger till the evening. The night
is only now a guidance in the gloom,
but this is not my portion, this, my light,
illuminates the corners of my room
and pledges joy ever it began.
Then I await, as only wonder can.
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3 comments:
This is glorious, my love. I'd like to hear you read it to me--but alas, I could not wait so long. I think you will take joy in the approaching evening and the light of the stars once again someday.
Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day: it was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
"This bud of love, by Summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower..." Lovely poem.
I don't know what I do to merit such wonderful comments, but I'll try to continue doing it. Thank you!
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