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.
A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...
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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...
Alexander Scriabin: the Poem of Ecstasy (English translation by Faubion Bowers) (See the original here .) Spirit, Winged with the...
What left knew how to return. How happy the time when, if a path disappeared, we knew it was only because there was no reason to go onward,...