If it could be like springtime, the woods in soft moonrise.
The murmur of the grass unfading, soft; I dance in light
Above my head, the stars within a cloudless sky so fair
Illuminate the lost who wanders grey-hued in despair...
To vanish as a thought, intrigue; as sight so empty, worn
But wind arises, piercing keen; my heart could only turn
To you, the echo of the river faint beneath such song
Concealed in mists of rainfall, swirled rays of gilded dawn
A robe, not so much darkened as a jewel held up so high;
But what, if not in glade or shore should tarry our good-bye?
Or are the waters darkened by the broken paths that lead
Past mountains of fair memory; these steps with trace of glee...
So clear is love, azure and deep, and from the hope so swift,
It falls again, dream woken with the music left to drift
And would I cry, "oh lovely home, where once my light had lain,
Now fallen are the halls, these tears to hold the past again;
For parting was so soon, like flitting flowers in the grass
Beneath your feet; the distant murmurs never come to pass--"
Grasping at where you would be, by waters dark and sight betrayed
What straying words would bring you back, so lost and far away?
What now shall break the hollow waves, in echo from outside
Between these walls of ivory--a glass of sky and wind to glide
In facing west... seeking star, which rises slow and glistening
To now pass tower, high and white, in view of silver wings
Such fire sailing smoothly within hollow icy glare
Past cosmos shifting, slow and deep, and star-spray flying there;
Reaching soon the ship, once fleeing everlasting light,
But coming now is jewel where twining hearts meet nearest sight...
Between sunhaze and moonlit beam embrace may last for more--
That in your eyes familiar paths can run and fade in lore.
Beneath the halls and glossy stones, the couple stand in place
Hand in hand; the raven stoops to kiss the smiling face
Of flaxen maiden, faint blushing in the sprinkling of mist,
Delighting gathered crowd, the warming calls and claps persist,
And there I stand, not thinking whether I should there just be
Decidedly alone, in midst of candlelight and trees;
And friends as pairs with clasping hands and hearts so closely-tied,
So when I turn, I look beside at what may have been mine
The glade, the river running would see through captivity
Of knowing where you really are, so lost as I can see--
Penned by my hand on the 24th of Aequitas, in the year 465 AD.
