Wonderous moment
 
The wondrous moment of our meeting . . .
I well remember you appear 
Before me like a vision fleeting, 
A beauty's angel pure and clear. 
  
In hopeless ennui surrounding 
The worldly bustle, to my ear 
For long your tender voice kept sounding, 
For long in dreams came features dear. 
  
Time passed. Unruly storms confounded 
Old dreams, and I from year to year 
Forgot how tender you had sounded, 
Your heavenly features once so dear. 
  
My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet
Dull fence around, dark vault above
Devoid of God and uninspired, 
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love. 
  
Sleep from my soul began retreating, 
And here you once again appear 
Before me like a vision fleeting, 
A beauty's angel pure and clear. 
  
In ecstasy the heart is beating, 
Old joys for it anew revive; 
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting 
The fire, and tears, and love alive.



Love letter

I just recall this wondrous instant:
You have arrived before my face --
A vision, fleeting in a distance,
A spirit of the pure grace.
In pine of sorrow unfair,
In worldly harassment and noise
I dreamed of your beloved air
And heard your quiet, gentle voice.
Years passed. The tempests' rebel senders
Have scattered this delightful dream,
And I forgot this sound tender
And how heavenly you seemed.
In gloomy dark of isolation,
My days were gradually moved,
Without faith and inspiration,
Without tears, life, and love.
My soul awoke with decision:
And you again came as a blest,
Like an enchanting fleeting vision,
A spirit of the pure grace.
My heart beats on in resurrection --
It has again for what to strive:
Divinity and inspiration,
Life, tears, and eternal love.

The Night

My voice that is for you the languid one, and gentle,
Disturbs the velvet of the dark night's mantle,
By my bedside, a candle, my sad guard,
Burns, and my poems ripple and merge in flood --
And run the streams of love, run, full of you alone,
And in the dark, your eyes shine like the precious stones,
And smile to me, and hear I the voice:
My friend, my sweetest friend... I love... I'm yours... I'm yours!
  

 
  A saint's damnation                
You buy my spirit with those shameless eyes 
That burn my soul, you loose the torrent stream 
Of my desire, you make my lips your prize, 
  
And on them burns the whole life's hope: you deem 
You buy a heart; but I am well aware 
How my damnation dwells in that supreme 
  
Passion to feel upon your shoulders bare, 
And pass the dewy twilight of our sin 
In the intolerable flames of hair 
  
That clothe my body from your head; you win 
The devil's bargain; I am yours to kill, 
Yours, for one kiss; my spirit for your skin! 
  
O bitter love, consuming all my will! 
O love destroying, that hast drained my life 
Of all those fountains of dear blood that fill 
  
My heart! O woman, would I call you wife? 
Would I content you with one touch divine 
To flood your spirit with the clinging strife 
  
Of perfect passionate joy, the joy of wine, 
The drunkenness of extreme pleasure, filled 
From sin's amazing cup. Oh, mine, mine, mine, 
  
Mine, if your kisses maddened me or killed, 
Mine, at the price of my damnation deep, 
Mine, if you will, as once your glances willed! 
  
Take me, or break me, slay or soothe to sleep, 
If only yours one hour, one perfect hour, 
Remembrance and despair and hope to steep. 
  
In the infernal potion of that flower, 
My poisonous passion for your blood! Behold! 
How utterly I yield, how gladly dower 
  
Our sin with my own spirit's quenched gold, 
Clothe love with my own soul's immortal power, 
Give thee my body as a fire to hold-- 
O love, no words, no songs--your breast my bower! 


        At Sea 
   As night hath stars, more rare than ships
   In ocean, faint from pole to pole,
   So all the wonder of her lips
  Hints her innavigable soul.

  Such lights she gives as guide my bark;
  But I am swallowed in the swell
  Of her heart's ocean, sagely dark,
  That holds my heaven and holds my hell.

  In her I live, a mote minute
  Dancing a moment in the sun:
  In her I die, a sterile shoot
  Of nightshade in oblivion.

  In her my elf dissolves, a grain
  Of salt cast careless in the sea;
  My passion purifies my pain
  To peace past personality.

  Love of my life, God grant the years
  Confirm the chrism - rose to rood!
  Anointing loves, asperging tears
  In sanctifying solitude! 

  Man is so infinitely small
  In all these stars, determinate.
  Maker and moulder of them all,
  Man is so infinitely great! 
 
 

       Song in the Garden of the House of God        
(from the Navajo corn-planting ritual)
Truly in the east
The white bean
And the great corn plant
Are tied with the white lightning.
Listen! rain approaches!
The voice of the bluebird is heard.
Truly in the east
The white bean 
And the great squash
Are tied with the rainbow.
Listen! rain approaches!
The voice of the bluebird is heard.
From the top of the great corn-plant the water gurgles, I hear it;
Around the roots the water foams, I hear it;
Around the roots of the plants it foams, I hear it;
From their tops the water foams, I hear it.
The corn grows up. The waters of the dark clouds drop, drop.
The rain descends. The waters from the corn leaves drop, drop.
The rain descends. The waters from the plants drop, drop.
The corn grows up. The waters of the dark mists drop, drop.
Shall I cull this fruit of the great corn-plant?
Shall you break it? Shall I break it?
Shall I break it? Shall you break it?
                Shall I? Shall you?
Shall I cull this fruit of the great squash vine?
Shall you pick it up? shall I pick it up?
Shall I pick it up? Shall you pick it up?
                Shall I? Shall you?
 
Prayer 
(from the Navajo healing ceremony called Night Chant)

Tségihi,
House made of dawn.
House made of evening light.
House made of the dark cloud.
House made of male rain.
House made of dark mist.
House made of female rain.
House made of pollen.
House made of grasshoppers.
Dark cloud is at the door.
The trail out of it is dark cloud.
The zigzag lightning stands high upon it.
Male deity!
Your offering I make.
I have prepared a smoke for you.
Restore my feet for me.
Restore my legs for me.
Restore my body for me.
Restore my mind for me.
This very day take out your spell for me.
Your spell remove for me.
You have taken it away for me.
Far off it has gone.
Happily I recover.
Happily my interior becomes cool.
Happily I go forth.
My interior feeling cool, may I walk.
No longer sore, may I walk.
Impervious to pain, may I walk.
With lively feeling may I walk.
As it used to be long ago, may I walk.
Happily may I walk.
Happily, with abundant dark clouds, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant showers, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant plants, may I walk. 
Happily, on a trail of pollen, may I walk.
Happily may I walk.
Being as it used to be long ago, may I walk.
May it be beautiful before me
May it be beautiful behind me.
May it be beautiful below me.
May it be beautiful above me.
With it be beautiful all around me.
In beauty it is finished.

             Behind me dips Eternity           

Behind Me -- dips Eternity --
Before Me -- Immortality --
Myself -- the Term between --
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin --
'Tis Kingdoms -- afterward -- they say --
In perfect -- pauseless Monarchy --
Whose Prince -- is Son of None --
Himself -- His Dateless Dynasty --
Himself -- Himself diversify --
In Duplicate divine --
'Tis Miracle before Me -- then --
'Tis Miracle behind -- between --
A Crescent in the Sea --
With Midnight to the North of Her --
And Midnight to the South of Her --
And Maelstrom -- in the Sky -- 
 
Wild Nights

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!
 
Dare You See A Soul

Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door --
Red -- is the Fire's common tint --
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame's conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil's even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs -- within --
Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge -