From before the time of group-think and double-think, and before the age of autometry; from before the robot revolution and the hood-winked mind; when soul danced on the earth, danced through it’s body’s own blood and bone, danced through the pain of life and the joy of life which themselves dance ever as two in one; when soul whispered in the quiet night that was confident in its velvety robe and safe from the angry heated wires that now cut the stillness as if an icy crust would dare obscure the Greater Works; when space itself was not agitated by the tireless babble of buying and selling; from before this age of theater and punditry, this age of consumption and presumption, this age of self-hatred and self-adoration, this age of darkness swathed in the angelic light of rationalization and the demonic, numbing glow of no-reason, Sappho reminds us what is real in a voice “Far sweeter than the throbbing lyre in sound, A voice more golden than gold, new found.”
Just now the golden-sandalled Dawn…
I love refinement and for me Love has the splendour and beauty of the sun.
Face me, my dear one…and unveil the grace in thine eyes.
Cool murmur of water through apple-wood
Troughs without number
The whole orchard fills, whilst the leaves
Lend their music to slumber. (translated by H. de Vere Stacpoole)
Now Love, the ineluctable, with bitter sweetness Fills me, overwhelms me, and shakes my being.
(tr. by Edwin Marion Cox, except the stanza noted otherwise)
luscious and graceful…thank you ~.~
Thank you for the kind words.
K