(no subject)
And again, I found myself -quite forcefully- staring at these poems. They have a kind of illuminating power which I cannot deny somehow got me trapped. This one reminds me a bit of Rossetti, but it can be because I've been reading her a lot lately...
Untitled
A fairy fire, caress the cheek
At dawning hour, a maiden sleeps
In fields of honey, gleaming dew,
A flower bud, a blooming rose,
Grass as sweet as birdsong's notes
Sung high above the sleeping one,
Her hair a river, twisted black,
Her skin of Mother Nature's clothes,
A heart like springtime, full and fat.
Through nature's gift, through nature's bed,
She sleeps a restful dreaming sleep;
The angel's favored child of man
Sings songs within her dreaming land,
Songs to rival feathered notes
To make the trees and clouds bow low
The honeysuckle to spill its dew,
And yet the concert soon must end
Her waking hour's close at hand.
Yes, this is indeed another one of Rob-something's poems. I really like this guy.
Call it echos from a not-so-distant past.
On another note; It's almost All Hallow's Eve. *shivers* "Samhain. All Hallows. All Hallow's Eve. Hallow E'en. Halloween. The most magical night of the year. Exactly opposite Beltane on the wheel of the year, Halloween is Beltane's dark twin. A night of glowing jack-o-lanterns, bobbing for apples, tricks or treats, and dressing in costume. A night of ghost stories and seances, tarot card readings and scurrying with mirrors. A night of power, when the veil that separates our world from the Otherworld is at its thinnest. A 'spirit night', as they say in Wales."
Dark twin? I'll be -as always- a witch. You?
Untitled
A fairy fire, caress the cheek
At dawning hour, a maiden sleeps
In fields of honey, gleaming dew,
A flower bud, a blooming rose,
Grass as sweet as birdsong's notes
Sung high above the sleeping one,
Her hair a river, twisted black,
Her skin of Mother Nature's clothes,
A heart like springtime, full and fat.
Through nature's gift, through nature's bed,
She sleeps a restful dreaming sleep;
The angel's favored child of man
Sings songs within her dreaming land,
Songs to rival feathered notes
To make the trees and clouds bow low
The honeysuckle to spill its dew,
And yet the concert soon must end
Her waking hour's close at hand.
Yes, this is indeed another one of Rob-something's poems. I really like this guy.
Call it echos from a not-so-distant past.
On another note; It's almost All Hallow's Eve. *shivers* "Samhain. All Hallows. All Hallow's Eve. Hallow E'en. Halloween. The most magical night of the year. Exactly opposite Beltane on the wheel of the year, Halloween is Beltane's dark twin. A night of glowing jack-o-lanterns, bobbing for apples, tricks or treats, and dressing in costume. A night of ghost stories and seances, tarot card readings and scurrying with mirrors. A night of power, when the veil that separates our world from the Otherworld is at its thinnest. A 'spirit night', as they say in Wales."
Dark twin? I'll be -as always- a witch. You?