The Soul Of A Century/A quiet pain
A QUIET PAIN
Across a soft black rug that stretched along my bed
Woven of the yams of Night into a shadowed gossamer dress
You came my Love, and poured a cup of red,
The bitter wine of your caress . . . .
You pierced and penetrated like a light’s feeble wave,
You burned within my nerves as the cold touch of death,
And buried in your arms as in a cold live grave,
I awoke fatigued with the burden of your breath.
I measured the gulf of seconds with many years’ hasty flight,
The vanished scent of Springs, poured into the seconds’ spheres
Through the curtain of our dreams dawned eternity’s faint light
Like the break of a new day appears.
To the Secret’s distant poles, silently together we went
Where in the rays and facets of sparkling chandeliers
Played the Eternal’s miracle, where the darkened heavens bent
As if set with flames of sapphires and burning tears.
When did you strike the keys, that over the keyboards’ snow
Quivered beneath your fingers like the waves on a moonlit plain?
And then you played of my life, of the evening’s tender glow,
Romance, of dreams, denials and disdain.
In your music my hour’s slumbering choir came to life
And melted through the stillness, as an angelus of silver bells
Even my blood’s refrain poured in my veins through the rhythmic strife
Of joyous youth, as if accented by my laughter’s riotous spells.
The pain of burnt desires smouldered beneath your song
In solemn requiem’s cadences fell as tears
And a longing for the Highest fell to the ripened ground
As dew drops fall in sparkling golden streaks.
Time inhaled, a feeble scent, stirred by your music’s might
In grapes of foreign wines it settled beneath your tone’s impact,
While the glory of bygone suns, and the splendor of a starry night
Were mirrored in your rhythm’s pitch black cataract.
Then with your strings’ vibrations you touched the mystic strain
’Til through excessive quivers it flared into a bluish light
Of a flaming haze . . But your music reached in vain
With the Unknown’s voice of might.
My listening mortal ear . . . Where the stillness vaulted and wept
My soul’s soft, deadened sighs, and grief in speechless forms!
Like a scent of offerings, to the angels’ windows crept,
The sorrows of future days . . . the ozones of coming storms . . .
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929. The longest-living author of this work died in 1929, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 94 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
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| Translation: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) between 1929 and 1977 (inclusive) without a copyright notice. The longest-living author of this work died in 1987, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 36 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
