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| Photo by RN |
A little piece of Heaven.
A day in paradise.
A stroll in the mist holding on to you.
A flight up into the clouds and above.
You showed me a world of dreams.
You showed me a world of dreams.
Memories for a lifetime and more.
Wish I could have it all and then again, a little more time.
And Kelsang be our haunt in the hills we discovered
Winding roads to the abode of the deodars
We found our little chalet.
For a little while on borrowed time.
Thank you all the same for I am transfixed,
Frozen in a surreal moment but the warmth says
I'm alive and that I'll live on forever in your heart.
Ode to Psyche
ReplyDeleteBy John Keats
O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A brooklet, scarce espied:
Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
They lay calm-breathing, on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
The winged boy I knew;
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
His Psyche true!
O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'd
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir'd.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!
Be deodars it or zephyrs,
ReplyDeletethat cool your path, red-headed goddess,
make you the centre of all spheres,
reigning Cupid's garden, adorable and spotless.
Be zephyrs it or deodars,
protecting you by night and day.
Those mountain winds will leave no scars,
gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
Wow!
ReplyDeleteAnd red is your touch that trails over my skin
Molten heat in your eyes when I gaze upon you
Words unspoken but written across your face
Thank you be tasted on my lips in return
Yes.
ReplyDeleteMy eyes are closed, but still you're able
to read my dreams, feel there my molten gaze,
embracing you, trembling, but stable
and golden sparks swirling from purple blaze.
Yes.
Closed are my lips, don't dare to tell,
I'd love to pluck that tempting promise
you offered me, my dearest belle
thus you might be Awakening Adonis.
==
Well.
Should I use this alias far from truth?
And whisper words, your ears are'nt ready yet to hear?
Not shivers are it these lines should induce.
But comfort, warmth, without a trace of fear.
Then.
Let's be strangers, friends first and confidants
Share moments, hours of entangeld thought.
Kindness is it, that matters at all ends.
Without it everything is naught.
==
Yes.
Open is my garden to shelter butterflies
and shield from frosty winds and falling hail,
those tender elves, see, far their gentle flapping flies
produced by wings that seem so soft and frail.
Yes.
My garden's open any time, your duties let you borrow
it tries to calm you, and it won't enclose
approach today it, or do so tomorrow.
It's waiting and with it: The Soul of the rose.
Whoa!
DeleteThankfully Mister Waterhouse has made a vast array
ReplyDeleteof pictures, floating in my mind, when seeing your portrait
I'm absolutely certain, that, believe me, it is true
Had he lived in our times, depicted mostly you.
Soul of the rose's inspiration was a poem, nice and neat.
by Tennyson. I dare to lay it here before your feet.
I made a tiny little change, these guys are all the same:
when writing down these verses here, he confused the name...
==
Come into the Garden, M.
Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron (1809–92)
COME into the garden, M.,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, M.,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky, 10
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, “There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play.”
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, “The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine,” I sware to the rose,
“For ever and ever, mine.”
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash’d in the hall:
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.
The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
As the pimpernel doz’d on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh’d for the dawn and thee.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near;”
And the white rose weeps, “She is late;”
The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;”
And the lily whispers, “I wait.”
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
Splendid lines, Stranger.
DeleteThank you for sharing.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteYou are simply superb :)
ReplyDelete