A poem of sorrow and loss
queen_in_autumn posted this poem... which as I read, made me nearly cry. It's rare for that amount of emotion to be inspired in me, especially in poems and such... but this did. I know this poem describes how I would feel if JB were ever taken from me. My heart lurches at the knowledge that there is a near 50% that this is bound to happen in my future (lest I die first, or we die together). Morbid, I know, but there you have it. The author is unknown.
Lament for the God-King
Whom have you there upon the staves?
Whom but my supporting shoulder,
Whom but my utter burning,
Whom but my close succor,
Whom but my burning coal of loss,
Whom but my darling and my treasure,
Whom but the sap of the sap of my heart.
Your being placed in the grave,
Has turned my gladness to sorrow,
Has turned my eyes to weeping,
Has darkened hope and strength to me,
Has turned my day to wailing,
Has turned my night to mourning,
Nor was there a string within my heart
That was not daunted all at once.
Dead in my arms! Dead in my arms!
Dead in my arms! Dead in my arms!
The beautiful son of the mountains!
O god of manly mien,
The beauty spot was on your brow,
Lyre and drum were in your house,
While your pipes sounded passionately,
Following the hunt with your beloved people!
Where shall we go to warm ourselves
Since your house, love, is cold?
Where shall we go for shelter
Since your hearth is now dead?
The wines for your wedding
They went to your wake
Ah King! but I was tearful
While the measures were being drained.
I am traveling the places frequented of my love
I am traveling the groves and traversing the hollows,
From the base of the mountains to the crest of the hills.
To see if I behold my lover who was gracious and kind
I see you not, my love, I see not glimpse of you
On the tops of the mountains nor at the edge of the sea.
I am visiting the streams and I am visiting the rivers
I am visiting the bowers, the rock-shelves and the caves
To try if I can see your form, to try if I can hear your voice
I see and hear nought but the sorrowing of the sea.
The god is in his sleep! The god is in his sleep!
The god is in his sleep! The god is in his sleep!
Lament for the God-King
Whom have you there upon the staves?
Whom but my supporting shoulder,
Whom but my utter burning,
Whom but my close succor,
Whom but my burning coal of loss,
Whom but my darling and my treasure,
Whom but the sap of the sap of my heart.
Your being placed in the grave,
Has turned my gladness to sorrow,
Has turned my eyes to weeping,
Has darkened hope and strength to me,
Has turned my day to wailing,
Has turned my night to mourning,
Nor was there a string within my heart
That was not daunted all at once.
Dead in my arms! Dead in my arms!
Dead in my arms! Dead in my arms!
The beautiful son of the mountains!
O god of manly mien,
The beauty spot was on your brow,
Lyre and drum were in your house,
While your pipes sounded passionately,
Following the hunt with your beloved people!
Where shall we go to warm ourselves
Since your house, love, is cold?
Where shall we go for shelter
Since your hearth is now dead?
The wines for your wedding
They went to your wake
Ah King! but I was tearful
While the measures were being drained.
I am traveling the places frequented of my love
I am traveling the groves and traversing the hollows,
From the base of the mountains to the crest of the hills.
To see if I behold my lover who was gracious and kind
I see you not, my love, I see not glimpse of you
On the tops of the mountains nor at the edge of the sea.
I am visiting the streams and I am visiting the rivers
I am visiting the bowers, the rock-shelves and the caves
To try if I can see your form, to try if I can hear your voice
I see and hear nought but the sorrowing of the sea.
The god is in his sleep! The god is in his sleep!
The god is in his sleep! The god is in his sleep!