Dark For All Of Me [1/?]
anonymous
April 25 2010, 23:34:28 UTC
And now, the final part of the trilogy. This period cycles through the latter half of the 1600s.
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.'
Acceptance by Robert Frost
It was a relief to be away from the salty breeze that swept the ocean. His joints felt stiff, rusted almost no thanks to the salt, having experienced a rather limited range of movement throughout his journey. He had chosen to sail in order to avoid walking on accursed French soil, and so travelled through his new territory of North Italy. It had been flourishing better than anticipated and he was keen on keeping it that way; taking Italy with him was a move to strengthen their political ties and, perhaps with the destination in question, their personal ties. Loyalty was a virtue that never in abundance lacked, after all. He already had his hands full trying to reclaim Hungary. He didn’t need a coup to happen under his very nose.
Austria hated travelling, anyway. Now that his feet were planted firmly on blessed soil, he was more than eager to nestle him comfortably in Spanish hospitality and refrain from leaving for as long as he could manage. He felt, with some measure of private arrogance, that Spain would be more than willing to keep (not just have) him even unannounced. He had foregone a coach, preferring to walk. Italy, his attendant and a subtle number of guards followed suit.
The land of Spain was, as he had imagined, rich and vibrant. He could smell the earth and all its history and culture, and as he closed his eyes, he heard it whisper to him, in tongues he both knew and did not know, speaking words that twisted like smoke and had no shape as he walked into the heart of the city. It was not a gold-paved land as the stories on the high seas oft espoused, but there was strength in its soul.
It was a golden city that was recovering from economic ruin.
He noted that the people eyed him warily, eyes dulled from years of toil but still retaining a small spark of something that might have resembled hope. Considering the tribulations of the past century, it would have almost seemed pathetic but that very spark was an echo of the nation from which they birthed, giving them more resemblance to Spain than his own flesh and blood kin ever would. He felt a little self-conscious in his aristocratic finery but he maintained his upright persona and soon arrived at the seat of the Spanish nation - a small castle in the wood, not quite visible to those who did not seek to find it, at the end of an even dirt path that led from an inconspicuous road from the docks. Nations, the ones in the midst of war at the very least, tended to live near the closest international ports.
The guards of the castle gates scrambled to attention and saluted once they were shown the royal crest of the House, letting the entourage through. Faintly, Austria could hear a carriage filled with gifts and belongings travelling through the wood. He would leave it to his people to organise.
“Make sure you behave yourself,” he reproached Italy firmly. “We are guests.”
“Yes!” Italy squeaked, fidgeting nervously even as he neatened his gown.
Austria took a slow breath, straightened his jacket once and walked through the threshold.
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'
Acceptance by Robert Frost
It was a relief to be away from the salty breeze that swept the ocean. His joints felt stiff, rusted almost no thanks to the salt, having experienced a rather limited range of movement throughout his journey. He had chosen to sail in order to avoid walking on accursed French soil, and so travelled through his new territory of North Italy. It had been flourishing better than anticipated and he was keen on keeping it that way; taking Italy with him was a move to strengthen their political ties and, perhaps with the destination in question, their personal ties. Loyalty was a virtue that never in abundance lacked, after all. He already had his hands full trying to reclaim Hungary. He didn’t need a coup to happen under his very nose.
Austria hated travelling, anyway. Now that his feet were planted firmly on blessed soil, he was more than eager to nestle him comfortably in Spanish hospitality and refrain from leaving for as long as he could manage. He felt, with some measure of private arrogance, that Spain would be more than willing to keep (not just have) him even unannounced. He had foregone a coach, preferring to walk. Italy, his attendant and a subtle number of guards followed suit.
The land of Spain was, as he had imagined, rich and vibrant. He could smell the earth and all its history and culture, and as he closed his eyes, he heard it whisper to him, in tongues he both knew and did not know, speaking words that twisted like smoke and had no shape as he walked into the heart of the city. It was not a gold-paved land as the stories on the high seas oft espoused, but there was strength in its soul.
It was a golden city that was recovering from economic ruin.
He noted that the people eyed him warily, eyes dulled from years of toil but still retaining a small spark of something that might have resembled hope. Considering the tribulations of the past century, it would have almost seemed pathetic but that very spark was an echo of the nation from which they birthed, giving them more resemblance to Spain than his own flesh and blood kin ever would. He felt a little self-conscious in his aristocratic finery but he maintained his upright persona and soon arrived at the seat of the Spanish nation - a small castle in the wood, not quite visible to those who did not seek to find it, at the end of an even dirt path that led from an inconspicuous road from the docks. Nations, the ones in the midst of war at the very least, tended to live near the closest international ports.
The guards of the castle gates scrambled to attention and saluted once they were shown the royal crest of the House, letting the entourage through. Faintly, Austria could hear a carriage filled with gifts and belongings travelling through the wood. He would leave it to his people to organise.
“Make sure you behave yourself,” he reproached Italy firmly. “We are guests.”
“Yes!” Italy squeaked, fidgeting nervously even as he neatened his gown.
Austria took a slow breath, straightened his jacket once and walked through the threshold.
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