Le Temps Revient...

Poetry, Music, Art & Ideas for the Archaic Recurrence...

jueves, 24 de febrero de 2011

Hispania Citerior Canto VIII: The Pyrenees.

Howe'er remaineth the future, erratically I doth write,
To have recounted already, what's still far from sight!
'Twas close by here to the Pyrenees they'd go,
To the north Hispania Citerior hath much still to show!

And makest thee of day's time merrily,
Find flight to haven's distant Pyrenees, 
That seemeth not far for a recluse,
Times hour spent, pensive in use.

Now seen all that further afield wouldst,
Dwell upon valleys of wilderness where couldst,
Savest thou thy hour in need,
Longingly ne'er happen'd -Take heed!

Thy climes stem from a higher accent,
'Though care not for thyself 'lest thee prevent,
An uncharm'd vigilance that from which,
Set thyself up for a hard life of bliss.

Canst thou speaketh of the hour?
Which hast been taken oft' but sour?
What blackness follows our path?
E'er upwards, onwards -surpass!

'Till stumbling wayward and confus'd,
'Though direct 'twas ne'er thought bemus'd,
On to a still silent yet hostile abode,
Find rest none far quickly, further from home!

That nightly presence seeming so still,
Fleetingly hast thou drank thy fill!
To make little of torrents remaining unknown,
That into daylight 'twouldst be waitingly shown!

Mists of the unseen coming decadence,
Shed thy unfitfully false presence,
Slowly creeping, falling far foul,
Of those who'd possess thee, unlucky art thou!

Daylight! Cast thy hour! Play on!
See the game, but where hast thou gone?
A fitting phrase to be still unawaken'd!
Unawares thou seem'd sadly mistaken!

First beam of light ne'er 'twas so,
Appreciated as now, I implore thee go,
Candescent perhaps thy eyes open'd be,
The force of full senses ought ne'er be seen!

Yet cast in its aspect, a morning unbroken,
Untam'd horses of which thou couldst hath spoken,
The salt of the earth feedeth thee,
But from the bell hast thou not yet been freed!

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