Longing--she of the lyric bones--
viewing you through lace, forgets
to exhale, all this aching flute--
animates you, and what she awakens--
a grasp for the pearl past arm's length;
a glimpse of the rose in incense dusk;
she breathes in the iridescence of the hallowed,
and drinks alone from that hidden spring.
Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth. I had begun to transl...
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Alexander Scriabin: the Poem of Ecstasy (English translation by Faubion Bowers) (See the original here .) Spirit, Winged with the...
There is a song clinging like a drowsy bat to the dingy ceiling of a dungeon, deep within the labyrinthine palace of my memories, a melody...
A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...