(no subject)
When I Met Oberon
It wasn’t night, nor yet midsummer,
Rather it was four, or thereabouts,
One afternoon in early April,
April, yes, I well remember, trumpet daffodils
Were blooming in the gardens all along the way
And in the verges also,
And the violets,
Beloved ever-always, tiny violets,
So beautiful, so perfect, parfait,
Mauve, in beds of deep green heart shapes,
April, yes,
And I was quite unshackled,
Free to wander, free to roam
And wend my way toward the woodland.
Yes,
I’d often thought of him within and roundabout the trees,
But not till that pure-hearted hour caught glimpse.
His soul-wrought magic moved all round
The green-grey trunks and branches,
Whispered, whispered in the leaves.
I felt my footsteps faerie-guided,
Softly… slowly… forward…
Underneath this bough…
Between these twins of beech…
His eyes and mine…
Our visions… sensing, clasping,
Reading,
Liking, loving at once.
My heart grew vast and broke from its cage
And flew to encircle his perfect beauty.
“No one knows me,” came his silent warning,
“No one, no one knows me.”
Turned this king, this Oberon, this god,
Revealing long blue-green-gold shimmering wings
That lay in stillness, momentary stillness,
Then gave sudden flicker-flutter,
Filled the air with rush and whirl,
And brought him closer,
Round me, round about me.
“Wingless one,” he called me,
And with fingers cool and real
He traced my mortal spine and shoulder blades,
My lack of flight.
His lips then quivered near my neck
With kisses and with laughter,
Deep ethereal laughter.
“Thankyou,” and “thankyou,” I whispered, breathless,
Conscious of the honour of this monarch’s sweet attentions,
Scared of nothing but the emptiness I knew I’d feel if e’er he ceased,
Whene’er he ceased,
For surely he would cease and cease too soon.
I longed to turn, to face him,
Longed to kiss his deep gold-bronze-brown lips,
But dared not risk offence,
So stood I still and let his will and faerie-kisses
Bathe me,
Wrap me,
Bind me,
Lull me.
Sometimes his voice came seemingly from crows above me,
Hard and handsome,
Sometimes again from the core of the earth
In sonorous shudders,
“No one, no one, no one knows me,”
Always the same,
Negation,
Refusal,
Denial,
And yet…
Deep coursing will,
Affection.
When he was gone I felt for my heart,
But found it had not come again to hide within me.
It wasn’t night, nor yet midsummer,
Rather it was four, or thereabouts,
One afternoon in early April,
April, yes, I well remember, trumpet daffodils
Were blooming in the gardens all along the way
And in the verges also,
And the violets,
Beloved ever-always, tiny violets,
So beautiful, so perfect, parfait,
Mauve, in beds of deep green heart shapes,
April, yes,
And I was quite unshackled,
Free to wander, free to roam
And wend my way toward the woodland.
Yes,
I’d often thought of him within and roundabout the trees,
But not till that pure-hearted hour caught glimpse.
His soul-wrought magic moved all round
The green-grey trunks and branches,
Whispered, whispered in the leaves.
I felt my footsteps faerie-guided,
Softly… slowly… forward…
Underneath this bough…
Between these twins of beech…
His eyes and mine…
Our visions… sensing, clasping,
Reading,
Liking, loving at once.
My heart grew vast and broke from its cage
And flew to encircle his perfect beauty.
“No one knows me,” came his silent warning,
“No one, no one knows me.”
Turned this king, this Oberon, this god,
Revealing long blue-green-gold shimmering wings
That lay in stillness, momentary stillness,
Then gave sudden flicker-flutter,
Filled the air with rush and whirl,
And brought him closer,
Round me, round about me.
“Wingless one,” he called me,
And with fingers cool and real
He traced my mortal spine and shoulder blades,
My lack of flight.
His lips then quivered near my neck
With kisses and with laughter,
Deep ethereal laughter.
“Thankyou,” and “thankyou,” I whispered, breathless,
Conscious of the honour of this monarch’s sweet attentions,
Scared of nothing but the emptiness I knew I’d feel if e’er he ceased,
Whene’er he ceased,
For surely he would cease and cease too soon.
I longed to turn, to face him,
Longed to kiss his deep gold-bronze-brown lips,
But dared not risk offence,
So stood I still and let his will and faerie-kisses
Bathe me,
Wrap me,
Bind me,
Lull me.
Sometimes his voice came seemingly from crows above me,
Hard and handsome,
Sometimes again from the core of the earth
In sonorous shudders,
“No one, no one, no one knows me,”
Always the same,
Negation,
Refusal,
Denial,
And yet…
Deep coursing will,
Affection.
When he was gone I felt for my heart,
But found it had not come again to hide within me.