BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE
FIRST CANTO
In the beginning God spoke the Word,
His Spirit o’er chaotic waters stirred.
O Muse, wert thou there as well?
This is the truth I long to tell.
By God’s pure power all was aligned,
My Huri speaks in rhymes entwined.
When ordered passion stands made clean,
It walks with what is pure, serene.
God said: “Let there be light!”—it shone,
And split the dark from brightness drawn.
At evening’s hour your face I see,
All golden glow and spark to me.
Behold, O Muse, that primal night
God shaped within the cosmic height—
You sat in rhyme, in rhyme you dreamed,
Of Paradise in beauty gleamed.
I, lost within my thoughts alone,
A mind-born child, in depths was thrown;
I saw not in your eyes the flame,
Nor lips like dates, nor hair that came.
I saw you drifting o’er the sea,
O Muse, at time’s first mystery,
Wrapped in a fragrant, flowing veil,
Your pearly shimmer soft and pale.
You held in hands the tablets grand
Of fate divine by God’s command.
While nymphs and tritons chatter loud,
You stand in silence, wise and proud.
You came upon your shell afloat,
With whispering sounds within its throat,
And softly breathed into the ear:
“Attend your Muse, let song be clear.”
Clad in the sky-blue woven thread,
She walks the shore with arms outspread.
O lily-armed! To love you true
Makes wisdom bloom in hearts anew.
Turn to the poet’s listening ear,
Let lovely tones awaken there.
Let him give voice, let passion rise,
Creation’s love in fervent cries.
Here do I lie, legs crossed in rest,
On mossy couch by stone impressed,
Upon a lonely rock I gaze
Into the sea’s wild, foaming haze.
You near in veils of mother-of-pearl,
With sea-snakes round your form that curl.
Let but your beauty be the theme
Of wounded hearts in love’s soft dream.
O beauty walking on the sea,
In morning’s pale-green radiancy!
So chaste, so full of gentle grace—
I burn, I burn before your face!
O let me kneel and plead with thee
Amid the ancient roaring sea:
Let drunken eyes behold thy grace,
And kiss me with thy rose-red face!
O Muse, how shall the poet sing
If she denies love’s blossoming?
Fly, angel, with your folded wing,
And tell her of my longing’s sting!
She bowed beside the moonlit tide,
In night’s deep trance her beauty shined,
Her snowy face in darkness fair,
Her lips abundant, rich and rare.
O Muse, those lips so full and red,
Like budding roses freshly spread!
Love’s god would sip their sweetness deep,
A thousand gods their kisses keep!
Sweet-voiced—are you Calliope?
No epic vast you sing for me,
No war, no grief of mothers’ cry—
But joy alone you glorify.
Only Mnemosyne recalls
The ancient times through memory’s halls.
O heavenly one, I won’t begin
To sing of bliss, of guilt, of sin
Without you near—so let me hear
Your silken whisper drawing near.
Your henna curls in flowing streams,
I’ll sound your wisdom into dreams.
Untaught in science, Lord, how came
The worlds to be beneath your name?
You are eternal strength and mind—
Do myths and tales before you bind?
The prophet speaks the truth divine,
By Spirit moved in sacred line.
The poet dreams in colors bright,
And knows but love—his heart’s delight.
Now shows the Muse a vision grand:
Of Nüwa from the Middle Land.
Majestic, gentle, calm and bright,
She stood in soulful, graceful light.
She floated o’er the grasses new
That by the reedy waters grew.
While butterflies like blossoms fair
Danced lightly through the fragrant air.
Unicorns leapt in meadows green,
And airy spirits drifted unseen;
The parrot perched with colored wing,
The nightingale by roses’ ring.
Cattle roamed the meadows wide,
And goats on mountain slopes did stride.
Mother Nature, vast and free,
Lay stretched in endless harmony.
Clouds moved slowly o’er the land,
While lions leapt and panthers ran;
Wild horses proud in freedom raced,
And seabirds laughed through open space.
The doves cooed soft in tender play,
Their swelling breasts in love’s display.
Around red roses’ glowing hue
The nightingales in passion flew.
The oak and beech in wind resound,
Where doves let fall their feathers down.
My dreaming soul begins to roam
Through lands of cedar, cypress home.
Olive trees with fruit so strong,
And bergamot in fragrant throng;
Veiled fruits in modest growth appear,
While mist surrounds the branches near.
White mist, and crystal drops of dew,
Like silver rain descending through
The dark and waiting earth below—
Like Danaë’s golden, sacred flow.
A lamb beneath the lilies feeds,
The poppy bathes in morning beads.
All smiles—no sorrow anywhere!
Like lavender-jade blooms the air.
On silent lakes black swans now glide,
With white plumes carried in their pride.
The cypress weeps a tear of bliss,
The cedar laughs in happiness.
In peace the noble mare now flies
Through endless plains of liberty.
Then Nüwa raised her gentle eyes
To greet the One in Trinity.
She took some yellow earth in hand
From China’s ancient central land,
And shaped a form from simple clay,
To bless in heaven’s holy way.
She shaped with care and tireless hand,
A noble figure from the land.
A youthful idol, fair and whole—
I praise no more than this young soul.
Not Belvedere’s Apollo bright,
Nor David carved in marble white,
Could match his form, his flawless face,
Whose limbs fulfilled the goddess’ grace.
“I shall,” said Nüwa, “now create
From Adam’s earth a destined mate—
A woman fair, that he may see
In her God’s mirrored purity.”
Like lily bloom or nymph divine,
Her spotless grace began to shine;
Her heart was holy, pure, and mild,
By love made sacred, undefiled.
As if from dream her form had grown,
From marrow, bone—yet now her own;
In perfect beauty she did stand,
Devoted wholly to the man.
She gazed with jewel-like loving eyes
Into his own so soft and wise;
Their souls in one deep union lay,
In Paradise they merged as they.
The goddess, robed in rosy thread,
For but a while the earth then fled;
She drifted to the starry green
With grace the fairest ever seen.
She passed the Dipper, Phoenix bright,
And Weaver in the heavens’ light;
She reached the Polar Sovereign’s hall
And saw Heaven’s Empress over all.
The Moon’s white queen stepped forth in grace
From silver halls of crystal space:
“O Nüwa, holy is your will,
In you my favor lingers still.
Go, goddess of the paradise,
And heed what now my spirit cries:
Seek out the jade hare in the field,
Where cinnamon its scent revealed.
Then enter halls of crystal clear,
And at my feet in reverence kneel;
Let songs of praise around you ring,
Your beauty heaven’s choirs shall sing.”
Then waned the moon’s enchanting gleam
Into the dark of new-moon dream.
The poet sat in chamber lone,
His Muse to bed had softly gone.
SECOND CANTO
The wondrous Chawa softly came
To Adama, in beauty poured;
No Vulcan would halt in flame
If such an Aphrodite he adored.
Weep, poets, weep in sorrow deep,
Let showers of tears descend like rain,
For she stands bare before your keep—
Unclothed, and dazzling to the brain.
How will you sing, for heaven’s sake,
A modest hymn of virtue pure,
When she stands there with naught to take
From youth’s bright glow she can’t obscure?
No robes of majesty you raise,
No cloak of mercy draped in art;
But foam about her shoulders plays,
And floods her curls that crown her heart.
Naked as Ishtar in the grave,
Yet living in fair Eden’s light!
And Eros with winged grace shall lave
Her shining hair in blessing bright.
Her limbs like ivory gleam and shine!
Her limbs like ebony, proud and fair!
And dawnlight in her tresses fine
Streams like a banner in the air.
She walked beside the mighty sea,
Through rushing vale and flowing stream,
She lived where life flows wild and free,
Where mango scents in sweetness dream.
“My dusky one, my beauty bright!”
So Adama cried in ardent tone,
“With bamboo crowned and laurels light,
Love’s ecstasies in song are sown!”
“I walk with you, so sweet you are,
Hand joined in hand through Eden’s flame,
Arm bound in arm beneath love’s star,
Each other’s spark, each other’s flame.
Beloved, beloved, our hearts are one!
Above us dwells God’s love divine;
Through gardens bright with me now run
Where seraph horns in glory shine.”
Oh, I see through each veil you wear
As through a silvered onion thin;
Let my eyes drink the vision fair
Of faultless form and radiant skin—
Without a blemish, pure, complete!
Your breasts like mingled fruits that gleam,
Like bergamots in summer sweet,
Veiled lightly in the dew’s soft dream.
When mist descends, when hair falls low,
When blossoms drift in tender showers,
They rest upon the twin orbs’ glow,
Like seeds of dandelion flowers.
In paradise attire you stand,
All nature’s splendor shown in thee;
A breath like perfume wraps your form,
O soul-filled, living ecstasy.
Let poets then be courtly, wise,
And sing the lady love they claim;
I praise her beauty to the skies—
Eva, exalted be your name!
Chawa I sing, the lovely one,
In Eden’s garden, dark with night;
The mare shakes loose her flowing mane,
The flame leaps up in crimson light.
They spoke of fire as wine they drank,
They laughed and dreamed in tender grace;
Birds sank into the night’s deep bank,
The evening star adorned the space.
There lay the body’s white rose fair
With crimson petals softly spread,
In moss where blossoms filled the air,
And glowing fingertips were red.
Chawa arose within the grove
From foaming blooms in fragrant sea;
All nightingales in silence strove
To hear her voice’s melody.
Then Chawa spoke in accents sweet:
“I am so tired, I go to rest,
To drift in dreams where we shall meet,
Beloved divine, within my breast.
God-lost, love-drunk, I rest in peace,
In silence deep my soul shall lie;
Love-lost, God-found, I seek release
In life’s abundant ecstasy.
O lovely Adama, come to me,
Come to my bridal garden fair!
With many arts, devout I’ll be,
With open heart I’ll wait you there.
I’ll press you to this heart of mine,
That joined in God’s eternal flame
We find forever’s joy divine,
In bliss no mortal tongue can name!”
Eja, eja! my soul is filled
With warmth from your embracing grace,
I tremble like a blossom thrilled
By God’s महान, merciful embrace.
To love, to love—He wills it so,
To love us everlastingly,
To kiss with blooming lips aglow,
Seven times seven endlessly!
And Adam rested in her arm,
While nature bloomed and softly stirred;
The summer breathed its evening warm,
No frost within the night occurred.
His marrow danced, his bones took flight,
His soul descended into peace;
His sight grew still, released from sight,
His limbs found rest and gentle cease.
The evening star shed blessings mild,
The moon looked down in tender glow;
The nightingales, in chorus wild,
Sang lullabies both soft and low.
He kissed her shoulders, ivory-bright,
Like dolphins curved in graceful line;
He kissed her hair in whispers light,
With seraph blessings, pure, divine.
And gently in the meadow laid,
Soft, fertile field and tender ground,
Her body, cautious, unafraid,
Like glass so pure, without a sound.
Sleep now, and dive in God’s own sphere—
Within as without, the same within—
Give yourself wholly, without fear,
His love eternal you shall win.
So Adam too lay down to rest,
Beneath the sacred fig tree’s shade;
His life-breath to his God addressed,
And in a dream his spirit strayed.
He climbed into a fabled land
Through gates where golden lions gleam;
Half-moons adorned the starry span,
Like diamonds stitched into a dream.
There by a rose-entwining gate,
Before the wall, so fair to see,
A Houri sat in beauty great
And heard the nightingale’s soft plea.
A whisper, heavenly and light:
“Come, let us two in love unite—
Like evening stars in fading sight,
Like Eden’s flowers kissed by night.
Strong-hearted men alone I prize,
Faithful in love and constant too;
Like winged Hudhud’s song I rise—
In me the fairest stands for you.
Like Chawa I must surely be,
To please you through eternity;
Let’s kiss, oh let us kiss in glee—
Like rose and nightingale are we!”
“Am I not fair? My tresses fall
Softly along my listening ear—
Shall I release them, let them call,
Or let them rest upon me here?
Am I still fashioned as they adore,
As those on earth would call it true?
Be I unique in song once more—
Let Chawa live again in you!”
Thus do I sing in rustic rhyme,
So you need not refine each line,
Nor count nor measure every time—
Sing in old German love’s design.
THIRD CANTO
Fair, gentle daughters once were born
To the divine sea-bearer’s might,
By she whose hair the world adorns—
The barren sea grew rich with light.
O goddess rising from the tide,
O nymph of streams both vast and wide,
Like swan in silver grace you glide—
To you our incense we confide!
Savior we name you, bright and kind;
From roaring waves your gifts arise,
Let starlight in the waters shine,
O giver fair, O ever-wise.
A stillness rests upon the sea,
Within a grotto blue and mild;
Soft gleams of shimmering mystery—
The nymph and god are reconciled.
The surging salt waves rise and fall,
White-crested breakers rushing free;
O ever-present, good to all,
You reign upon the restless sea.
From foam-white sprays and drifting lace
The nymphs ascend and sink again,
With rosy limbs and charming grace,
They beckon love among all men.
Sweet gentleness and tender art,
And humble grace in quiet gold,
A harbor for the weary heart—
The Pleiades, so named of old.
O radiant one, in glory crowned,
Primordial gift from out the sea!
While Vulcan roared with forge’s sound,
Diana fled in fearful plea.
Primeval power, all-bestowing,
With far-seeing and boundless gaze,
From milky foam your form is growing,
A lovely steed in restless ways.
O wise and slender-limbed delight,
Like waves that kiss the shore’s soft seam,
Sea-bird with feathers pure and white,
A garlanded and godly dream!
Bathed in the ocean’s bluish gleam,
Mistress of tides and surging spray,
With soothing words that softly stream,
You calm the wrath of war away.
Deep wisdom dwelling in your core,
Redeemer of the soul’s bright spark!
I shall remember evermore,
Love-drunk, devoted in the dark.
O tender guardian of the meek,
Of lambs and kids that roam the land,
Like cypress slim at twilight’s peak,
Like blooming earth at your command!
On azure isles the horses rest;
The righteous hear with insight clear:
From Eva’s womb, divinely blessed,
The Savior’s mystery draws near.
As Horace once proclaimed in art,
Poets must teach and hearts must cheer;
So sing desire’s fall of the heart
Through prophets’ sacred scrolls held dear.
The garden brimmed with apple trees,
With pears both young and ancient-grown,
Mulberries dressed in silken breeze,
And plum-blossoms in foam were sown.
Gold citron, bergamot so sweet,
And jambu fruits in fullness grew;
Climb up the palm with eager feet,
Pluck figs, let love awaken you.
Majestic pomegranates hung red,
Like drops of life on branches high;
Their crowns in golden sunlight spread,
Green-orange dreams before the eye.
“All this is yours, my child,” he said,
“And more unnamed I yet shall give;
But one I call forbidden bread—
God’s law you must not fail to live.
One tree for Yahweh you must spare,
Its fruit untouched, its branch untried,
Lest in your hair there coils a snare—
The serpent hunts your soul inside.”
The serpent is a fallen one,
An angel lost, with cunning art;
He glides where lilies meet the sun,
With seeds and blossoms decked in part.
Lucifer whispered, hissed, and spoke,
With forked and subtle, silver tongue;
His coiling tail in shadows woke—
He dreamed to be the highest one.
With lowered gaze and feigning grace,
He came to Eva, sly and near,
With jesting words and charming face,
Appealing to her senses dear.
“Has God forbidden fruit to thee?
Is that not tyranny disguised?
Take now these fruits so scarlet-free—
Sweet sin is where delight is prized!
Forbidden fruit brings sight and mind,
You shall be like a god above,
With wisdom vast, no chains to bind,
No toil, no war—just endless love.”
Chawa beheld with shining eyes
The tempting fruits in scarlet glow—
“Oh, sweetness ripe for lips to prize!”
Her soul desired both truth and woe.
To know all things, to name them clear,
To see, to grasp all truth that is—
To burn in love forever near,
And kiss in endless drunken bliss!
Her senses swayed, her reason blurred,
She took the gift forbidden, bright;
God cried aloud in heaven’s word,
And Christ arose with shepherd’s might.
The lure of scarlet sin took hold
Within fair Chawa’s trembling frame;
O Muse, with mercy now unfold
How she was tempted into shame.
Enchanting, she to Adam came,
Who longed to gaze upon her grace,
To see all beauty’s primal flame—
First queen of every time and place.
As nymphs that rise from out the sea,
So Eve, in quiet piety,
Reflected God in purity—
While Adam burned in ecstasy.
Night cast its nets of shadow deep,
The roses blushed like wine-stained fire;
Then Cupid drew near to keep
And fan the flames of Eve’s desire.
Beneath the evening star’s soft gleam
He saw her beauty, bright and near;
Enraptured in a fevered dream,
She gave the scarlet fruit sincere.
An angel’s whisper reached my ear—
Yet Adam, hush that secret told:
This fruit bears knowledge bright and clear,
Life’s force that never shall grow old.
“We shall ascend to gods on high,
Call Marduk son of the divine,
With Jupiter thunder through the sky,
And stand before God’s throne in wine!”
And Adam ate. Then from his sight
The scales fell off—yet not to see;
His gaze grew hollow, stripped of light,
Like empty caves where none should be.
O woe, O woe! What dreadful fall!
From purity to ruin cast,
Like crashing foam, a waterfall—
His blood ran bitter, dark, and vast.
Old Adam’s flesh began to seethe,
His veins with poison now were filled;
Wild passions raged beneath his breath,
His brow with swelling anger thrilled.
You danced the dance of wanton fire
With Babylon’s unfaithful art;
Rebellion fed the fierce desire
That tore apart the human heart.
Ishtar walks the realm of death,
The heavenly must now decay;
She stood in trembling, naked breath
Before the judge, to fade away.
Egypt’s snares and scarlet lust
Enticed the will to darker flame;
Through fire’s gate you pass in dust—
No gods nor lovers call your name.
A parted tongue in crimson mouth,
Stone-Venus wide in hollow grace;
The primal womb, devouring south,
A poisoned cup in love’s embrace.
We feel the body’s trembling spark,
Foam-rushes storming through the mind;
We chase desire into the dark,
And worship self, deluded, blind.
From love’s eternal source cut loose—
Where love is one, and only one—
The living woman, divine muse,
Was mine beneath creation’s sun.
Now harems rise and jealous cries,
Sharp tongues like ravens tear the air;
Unfaithful hearts and bitter ties,
And faithless men in foul despair.
Then Chawa burned with sudden rage,
She fled like fire through marsh and pain;
No more the living fountain’s stage—
But poisoned blood in every vein.
O Eva, sorrow crowns your name!
You saw the kingdom torn away;
All born in sin shall bear your shame
And wander lost from light of day.
First woman, dream-born into breath,
From Adam’s heart and living core,
Rise from the cosmic foam of death
And cast your shadow evermore.
And sadness steals upon my soul
That all the world has hardened so;
Yet through Chawa’s love made whole,
I glimpse eternal joys below.
CANTO IV
"I am so sad," said Eve with heavy heart,
"We once were gods, with wealth beyond compare,
But now, with crumbs, our riches all depart,
And beggars stand before the door of prayer.
Where are the pearls that once the oceans bore?
The evening star, a diamond in the sky?
The dew on alders by the grassy shore?
Do doves still love, or have they passed us by?
Come, little dove, and let me comfort you;
Does sorrow ache, as you have often said?
I bring you bread, the finest that I knew,
To share with you where silver waters spread.
Oh, turtledove, my heart is filled with woe;
What do I wish? That you might joyful be!
I love you still, and pray the grace you show
May bring you bliss in highest constancy.
Should he not know the sparrow in the wind,
That rustles soft when evening shadows creep?
He watches bulbs for roses start to pinned,
And hears the words that make the spirit weep.
How sharp the pain the nightingale must bear,
When lilies shun the rose in cold disdain;
So poets rage when muses strip them bare,
While mimosa stays true through all the pain.
The world hangs down its heavy, weary head,
With silvered hair and mind in disarray;
The dew of sadness waits to be outspread,
And vanity consumes the light of day.
The hearts are cold, and empty as the grave,
The senses dulled by all the toils of life;
How pale the dawn, the queen who should be brave,
Her rosy crown now lost to endless strife.
O Muse, I hold your wisdom in my sight,
And seek the thoughts that you alone can tell;
Come, nymphs, and grant me mercy in the night,
And rescue me from where the shadows dwell!
The birds of paradise now flock to see,
To comfort Eve with songs of light and grace,
With folded wings and quiet sympathy,
They stand before her in this lonely place.
O Queen of Eden, cast in solitude,
Is this the truth of all we understood?
Is this whole realm, this wide and hollow mood,
Naught but a vale of tears, and never good?
But songbirds sang: 'There is a hope to find,
Lament the fall, yet smile with inner light;
Though Eve is young, and grace still stays behind,
The angel comes to close the reach of night.'
And Chawa spoke with eyes of shimmering grief:
'Love one another, hold your brothers near!
Winged messengers, bring all the world relief,
And drink the honey—I am frozen here!
Stripped of my glory, I am stained and poor,
Where is the sheen that once the maiden wore?
When Eden thrived, and joy was at the door,
And love was all the light we had in store?'
Here alders cast a shadow like the dead,
The sea is murmuring of dreams that wane;
The nymphs with silk-clad feet begin to tread,
And bury all the music of the main.
A song of sorrow rises from the deep,
Where crashing waves against the rocks are cast;
The moon-poppy has promises to keep,
To bring us peace and wash away the past.
Blue hour of evening, star of love's desire,
The vesper light that guides us to the goal;
Rock me to rest, quench all the burning fire,
And free from dust the burdens of my soul.
I sink into the love that God has made,
My final spark I offer at His throne;
My wounded heart, in light that shall not fade,
I give to You, my God, and You alone.
With the old serpent, I have played the part,
And see the dragon, horrible and vast;
He seeks to tear the world’s true life apart,
And make the birth of paradise his last.
The horny, warty skin, a loathsome sight,
Coils round with claws that hunger for the prey;
He strikes at Eve, and in his wretched blight,
Like common flies, he wastes her bloom away.
O filthy worms, O breed of dark decay,
Hell-rats and spiders spinning out our doom,
The angel's judgment comes to clear the way!
Chawa sought life, and not this hollow tomb.
Chawa sought life, and through the rosy gate,
She seeks to walk with seven senses wise,
Back to the garden, to her former state,
Where joy is found beneath the summer skies.
I shall respect the creatures, great and small,
Whether they wear a dark or lovely face;
Through lines of fate, and stumbles in the fall,
May God remain the source of loving grace!
I call to Him, to show His mercy deep:
Restore our Eden, Adam's home and mine!
Yahweh stands waiting, promises to keep:
'Be blessed,' He says, 'and let your heart be Mine!'
'Go through the pain, the coming labor's birth,
And Adam, toil in sweat upon the land;
No fruit shall rise from all the hardened earth,
Unless you serve the wife whom I have planned.
Woman, from you shall come the sacred Seed,
The branch of God, the Savior yet to be;
He shall destroy the serpent's hateful deed,
And crush the root of all this misery!'
Then came an angel with a sword of flame,
And took his stand beside the weeping Eve;
For Adam, life was not the same, the name
Of death became the prize he would receive.
From holy bliss and choral songs of old,
To tangled thickets, labor, and despair;
Beneath the idols, and the stories told,
Of demon-wars that haunt the heavy air.
Praise be the gate of paradise, we pray,
Where stands the angel, watchful, silent, bright!
Grant Eve, with blessings on her final day,
An everlasting, holy, love-filled night!
CANTO V
Eve bore the first, a son she named as Cain,
And Abel, three years younger, followed near;
From Adam’s seed and Eve’s own womb of pain,
They grew in grace, with God’s own spirit clear.
Cain turned his gaze toward the earthen bed,
With spade and hoe to plow the furrowed row,
While Abel through the wilder pastures led,
And watched the wandering herds that used to go.
The sisters gathered round as day would fade,
And Father, Mother, prayed with fervent breath:
"May God protect the choices you have made,
And guard your souls from sin and bitter death!"
O soul, you are an emerald, pure and bright,
Surrender now to love’s consuming flame;
A servant, handmaid, daughter of the light,
Whose heart is set to praise the holy Name.
Soar upward, soul, into the velvet night,
Where waits the Groom to meet you by the fire;
He glows within the candles’ golden light,
The Lamb and Lion, King of all desire.
How beautiful the Christ, the Son of God,
Who takes this soul into His warm embrace;
He grants a throne upon the heavenly sod,
Where we shall gaze forever on His face.
Be it a couch of moss and woven leaves,
A nightingale’s sweet nest of song and rest,
Or where the Goddess of the spirit weaves,
While demons flee as from a deadly pest.
For greedy maws lurk deep in shadows down,
With hatred, boredom, and a hollow sting;
With pain and wounds that wear a jagged crown,
And tears that fall like torrents from the spring.
I see young Cain still hammering his gold,
In smithies where the precious jewels gleam;
I see young Abel, pure and manifold,
The holy sacrifice of love’s own dream.
Eve praised her Abel, not with trumpet’s blare,
Like seraphs loud upon the heavenly height,
But whispered love, a quiet, holy prayer,
To guide our spirits toward the coming light.
She labored hard to live a life of grace,
And keep the ancient, sacred dream in view;
With flower-sewn borders in her dwelling-place,
She sat in robes of pure and pristine hue.
But offerings of fat and salted bull
Are not the gifts that stir the heart of God;
A lamb must die, to make the spirit full,
And cleanse the path that weary feet have trod.
Now sacrifice! Give up your blood and meat,
Become yourselves the offering of love;
Lay down your burdens at the mercy-seat,
And seek the eternal comfort from above.
Put little Cain to sleep within his bed,
And wrap young Abel in a mantle warm;
Bring out the scarf, by motherly hands spread,
To shield his ivory shoulders from the storm.
Wear now the cloak with fur-lined hem of grace,
With linen flowing, soft against the skin,
To dance like foam in every quiet place,
And hide the sorrow that remains within.
The evening gold falls on your darkened cheek,
You dream of far-off lands and skies of blue;
A magic spell, of which the poets speak,
Has captured all the beauty that was you.
The magic melodies begin to sound,
The nightingale evokes a hidden art;
The roses glow, with heavy mist around,
As love’s own perfume fills the weary heart.
Oh, tender kiss she gave to Adam’s soul,
She was the strength, and he the staff of might;
With maiden’s grace, she made his spirit whole,
And kissed him shyly in the fading light.
Enchanted flowers, blue and drunk with dew,
The poppy blooms, and fireflies ignite;
Like emerald sparks that shimmer into view,
Eve’s soul was white within the velvet night.
A holy pilgrim through the lands of old,
Where eagles soar and bears begin to roam,
With turtle-doves that travel, pair by fold,
And butterflies that grace their earthly home.
From Indian plains to Pharaoh’s golden hall,
She sat in purity, a queen of mind;
While Adam dreamt, and felt the heavy thrall
Of love’s sweet fetters, tender and entwined.
The longing for the fields of paradise,
Was she, and Adam was her comfort then;
The soul of women, lovely in his eyes,
The Moon of light for all the sons of men.
The houri speaks in simple, rhythmic song,
Like rose-quartz carvings from Arabia’s land;
As Cupid mocks the breast where loves belong,
And leaves a mark by nature’s subtle hand.
Where comes the mole upon her bosom white?
I read these lines, long hidden in the scroll,
In libraries where muses hold the light,
And stories of the ancient mothers roll.
In India, Persia, and the lands of sun,
God placed the sign upon the mother’s breast;
The veil of time has only just begun,
To show the mark where all her children rest.
O Mother of the living, source of light,
Of galaxies and stars that burn above,
Let not our fall be lost within the night,
But bring the Savior with His healing love!
But Cain was filled with sharp and bitter spite,
At Abel’s blessing and his holy way;
He spat his malice in the fading light,
And wished for sulfur-rain to turn to gray.
Satan sent the ones who seek to bind,
The holy Abel in a snare of pain;
With devilish schemes that Cain had designed,
He wished for death, to see his brother slain.
"I’ll tear the body of my brother down,
And damn his spirit to the fire’s reach;
I’ll strip him of his light and of his crown,
And leave him where the hollow shadows preach."
And then he struck, with iron in his hand,
(Like some dark murderer in robes of old),
To stain with blood the surface of the land,
And crush the rose before the tale was told.
"Abel, my son! Where do the ravens fly?
They bear your flesh into the gray unknown;
Cover his body where the poppies lie,
In orange petals, where the seeds are sown.
Come, blackest ravens, shroud him from the sight,
With veils of dust, and let no hound draw near;
Let Tubal play his flute within the night,
And sing a dirge for one we held so dear!"
"Abel, you were a breath of heaven’s air,
Too pure to dwell within this world of rot;
You loathed the gloom, the burden and the snare,
And sought the place where time is all forgot.
You sought the Father’s lap, the living source,
But I am left to walk this path alone;
Since you have ended on your earthly course,
My happiness is turned to heavy stone."
"O God, receive this soul of grace and light,
And guard the wild and wayward son of Cain;
Bestow upon him gold to make him bright,
And heal the darkness in his fevered brain.
Mark him, O Lord, that he may ever live,
And turn his heart from cold and bitter schemes;
Teach him to build, to love, and to forgive,
And find his peace within his waking dreams."
"Let him build cities, wide upon the land,
And seek the Sidon girls to be his wife;
Let him find solace, guided by Your hand,
And walk the paths that lead to deeper life.
Though he must wander through the nights of grief,
I’ll pray for him, in silence and in tears,
Until the light brings sudden, sweet relief,
And breaks the darkness of the coming years."
Was this the image of the Mother Eve,
So perfect, calm, and wrapped in holy rest?
The one for whom the heavens still must grieve,
With love's own mark upon her silent breast?
With maternal gaze, she looked upon her son,
Mother Eve, with God’s own presence in her breast.
The blue-hued bell, when evening has begun,
Sways on its stem, in silent, quiet rest.
Beside the cup, of jade so white and rare,
The artichoke in green repose is laid;
Beneath the plum tree, in the garden air,
The fruit descended, where the light had played.
And under cries and labor's heavy woe,
With pressing, weeping, and with stifled moan,
The golden child appeared, a gentle glow,
With sun-filled eyes, like heavens of the throne.
O radiant babe, of beauty past compare!
With aquamarine and clear, unwavering sight;
He babbles soft, with sweet and tender care,
His mother’s image, bathed in morning light.
Eve smiled with mercy, deep and ever mild,
A maiden once again, in bliss arrayed;
She looked with warmth upon the lovely child,
By whom her heart was captured and dismayed.
"Seth, my little Seth, be still," she sighed,
"Mama is here to offer you her breast."
The fountain flows, with love and strength supplied,
Like rich pomegranates, granting him his rest.
The infant pressed his mouth, so soft and small,
Against the fount of life that Eve bestowed.
O Muse, the love of God consumes it all,
And makes the heart feel all the weight it owed!
I ache with longing for that sacred fire,
That fills the spirit with a heavenly bliss;
To touch the heights of ultimate desire,
And seal the world with one eternal kiss.
CANTO VI
Eve’s narrow eyes, like those of cats at night,
Flashed deep into the soul of Adam’s core;
His aging mouth desired with fading light
To drink from her red jewel, evermore.
Though Adam old and near to death’s descent,
Yet Eve remained as youth that never dies;
Like Pindar’s boy, her beauty was well-spent,
Or Abishag beneath the ancient skies.
We hold with Hebrews in our tale today,
For Moses looked upon the Promised Land;
Preferring Canaan’s hills, he chose to stay,
With destiny held firmly in his hand.
Yet Moses too must join the gathered dead,
To dwell within the silence of his kin;
Did he behold his soul where light is spread,
Beyond the spheres where star-paths wander in?
He stepped into a world of different kind,
Perhaps upon the Morning Star of fire;
Where leafy tents of garden-green we find,
And pomegranate seeds, the heart’s desire.
The aged die and call out: "Grant more light!"
I stand prepared to bring the torch’s flame:
The face of Her, who shines in holy might,
Shall lift your soul in glory to His Name.
And shall the good we knew on earth below
Give joy again, when all the toil is done?
The prophet then, with courage all aglow,
Shall find the feline grace beneath the sun.
If what the Muse reveals is truly told,
Then Adam died beneath the evening star,
When dark the night, yet dew is clear and cold,
And heaven’s jewels reflect from worlds afar.
Adam was lost in dreams, deep and profound,
Three years within a single night he slept;
With lilies fair and silken ribbons bound,
While bliss in all its majesty was kept.
He saw the oceans foam against the shore,
The nymphs of old Judea glowing bright,
With India’s oils and silks from China’s store,
And houris dancing in the holy light.
One hovered from the choir, soft and sweet,
With chaste and gentle eyes, so fair to see;
Brown ringlets curled where ear and temple meet,
A vision from the Garden’s mystery.
Still, soft, and joyful, by her hand he led
Through groves of life where sorrow was erased;
The weary knights, by noble longing fed,
No longer walked the lonely paths they traced.
Higher they climbed! Toward the Morning Star,
Where fruitful, emerald meadows ever bloom;
From angelic hosts that gathered from afar,
With gods and nymphs to banish every gloom.
But these were not the gods of ancient fear,
But little cherubs, playful, gold, and kind;
They brought the weather, soft and ever clear,
The sweetest babes that love could ever find.
An angel fanned the air with gentle hand,
To chase the fireflies from their glowing flight;
A pure abundance filled the fertile land,
Where boughs were bent with fruit beneath the light.
A drunken overflow of joy and grace,
The hubbub of a wedding’s holy song;
The nymph stepped forth in silks of lace,
Where all the joys of paradise belong.
And so did Adam dream of Eve, lost there,
Forgotten of himself, his spirit free;
Completely merged in her, the vision fair,
Until he lost his own identity.
Drunk with the dream, he fell, and deeper still,
Into the flowering womb where nectar sleeps,
Where pearls of dew lie on the mossy sill,
And silence all the soul’s reflection keeps.
Sunken within a garden, new and vast,
The unspeakable met him in the calm;
He woke in morning, all the shadows past,
As God the Father poured the heavenly balm.
Then Lilith glided from the side, a gleam,
With red-gold locks and wreaths of blooming May;
Her face like spring, a softly shifting dream,
That stole the sweetness of the dawning day.
Yet Lilith must from Eve’s own beauty borrow,
To find the grace that she herself would claim;
For Eve would never hoard, nor yield to sorrow,
But shared her life, like wine within the flame.
Eve is the overflowing cup of light,
The chalice filled with life’s own rich decree;
The angels bake the manna in the night,
The bread of life for all the world to see.
On Ceylon’s peaks, where you, O Adam, lay,
To yield your breath and leave the mortal strife;
Your rest was full of dreams that led the way,
And healed the pains of all your earthly life.
Upon the rock, with bones so brittle grown,
He rested in the stillness of the deep;
The Mother’s prayer has made the mercy known,
And given her a hope for grace to keep.
No ghostly shades, nor phantoms of the mind,
Are at the heart of what is truly real;
But where the light and shadow are entwined,
The living serve the Lord with holy zeal.
To Him they live, all those who pass away,
He gathers them upon the final throne;
When He shall judge the works of war and play,
The cricket chirps in Ziklag, all alone.
Beside the rose-gate, near the Eden wall,
Beneath the shower of magnolia bloom,
Eve walks where flowers in a blue haze fall,
And petals weep a soft and heavenly doom.
Celestial grief, the sorrow of the glade,
O Jerusalem, your tears of falling dew;
Each angel shrouds his wings within the shade,
As resignation colors every hue.
Beautiful melancholy on her face,
The gentle form of grace so soft and mild;
She floats to him in light, with measured pace,
And leads him where the gardens are unpiled.
Eva, Eva, in the fields above,
The ivory lilies bloom in white array,
With roses of all kinds that tell of love,
And narcissus families that turn to day.
But one within the sanctuary blooms,
I honor her: the flower without a thorn;
The blue, stingless rose that love perfumes,
The Chinese rose upon the Pentecost morn!
A gem-bright lantern glitters like the dew,
A pavilion ringed with blossoms, soft and fair,
And there the Lady sits, in light anew,
With love’s own fragrance hanging in the air.
Etheric children flutter on the wing,
Cupid, or Genius, in their airy flight,
Like parrots calling as they dance and sing,
Around the Venus, bathed in foam and light.
Urania walked upon the Morning Star,
Her flowing tresses caught within the breeze,
With garnets stitched upon her silk afar,
A feast for eyes that look on mysteries.
Veils drift away, and passion is appeased,
With fresh, cool dew upon the thirsty ground;
Urania herself is truly pleased,
As love’s own flood in every heart is found.
Surging and rushing, tide of love’s desire,
Loderous, swaying, in the heart’s own sea;
We rest in peace, beside the Father’s fire,
At the Mother-breast of all eternity.
To moan in joy, with beauty quite drunk,
From the satisfied and blissful, holy gaze!
Father of Love! For every divine hunk
Of soul, I thank You through all endless days!
Muse, O Muse, where do you lead me now?
See, I am but a child of yours, and blind;
I follow you, I make my humble vow,
Into the living labyrinths you find.
Read me the lines, harmonious and clear,
The blessed light, the mint of living green;
Where thyme is blooming, and the air is dear,
In garden-floors where grace is felt and seen.
Flora and Fauna gathered in accord!
And there with honey-bees they played their part,
And sang their praises to the highest Lord,
The sweetest Seraphim, with joyful heart.
Angels of love, who flutter and arise,
Angels of love, who storm and wildly roar,
Bend down the branches with their heavy prize,
As Henna’s crown on Eve begins to pour!
The auburn strands are falling to the ground,
They sink upon her bosom, warm and soft;
She looked with blissful tears that made no sound:
"May you now grant me love, so high aloft!
In one thing only am I surely found:
In you my life is gathered, every part,
All joy, O royal source, you keep me bound;
All love is gathered up within your heart!
Spread outward now, in circles wide and vast,
That I, so drunk upon your love’s own dew,
Like Hudhud, high may soar while shadows last,
To bring this divine spark to all like you.
Beneath the banner of your holy name,
Eva, the heavenly queen of grace and light,
The peace of all the human seed began,
While love consumes the sense, with all its might.
And Eva stood before the mirror’s face,
Beholding there the Queen of Heaven’s domain,
With Spirit’s seal and every sign of grace,
While joyful beauty bloomed from every pain.
O chaste-eyed Virgin! Cast your glance, so chaste,
And look with warm and merciful delight
Upon the poet, from the breath-dust braced,
And teach him songs of everlasting light.
For seven years of sorrow, grief, and tears,
Seven long, hungry years, the sun was still,
My dark days found no dawn in all those fears,
I spent my anxious nights against the chill.
My longing almost caused a hunger-drought,
To separate my body and my soul - -
Let me now eat the bread of life, and out
Of love’s own burning fruit, I am made whole.
Grant me the food of life, O Life, I pray,
This death-conquering manna, sweet to me!
I love you, God! Within your grace I stay,
Who meets my striving and who makes me free!
Though all my ruined senses pull me back,
The lust of eyes and of the mortal frame,
I must not seek to rise, or feel the lack,
To let my little soul its flight now claim.
The love comes down to meet me from above,
And heaven shows a lovely form to me,
Anointed with a golden grace of love,
In mercy rich, and graceful constancy.
From where did Chawa get this being-force,
To bind my soul within such gentle chains?
If bliss I seek, I only see the source
Of Eva’s Eden, where the honey rains.
O I am dying - - Jesus, hold my hand!
Eva bent down to where the mortal lies,
Saw Adam’s body, from the soul unbound,
And whispered: "God forgives, and never dies."
CANTO VII
O Queen of Muses, pray, grant now to me
A drop of dew from that Castalian spring!
I thank you, thank you for eternity,
For this fair image that your wonders bring.
I enter now the garden where she dwells,
For she herself is fount and source of all;
Where roses rise from secret, scented dells,
And daffodils in misty dances fall.
The butterflies on fluttering wings take flight
Above the petals’ breath-swept, soft retreat;
The flowers bloom with industrious, steady light,
In dreamy pride, where grace and beauty meet.
Pure Nymph of heaven, fashioned from the air,
A form of gauze, too slight for linen’s weight;
You rest in ecstasy, beyond all care,
Within the stillness of your paradisal state.
Grace and charm poured out upon your lips,
Like dates that sweeten under summer sun;
The river from your bosom flows and drips,
To nourish all the clans and tribes as one.
A fountain fed by primal depths below,
Cast up your spray of white in sparkling play;
In swan-filled ponds, where ebony feathers glow,
The graceful birds in rhythmic beauty sway.
O golden-faced, the Goddess of the still,
Whose silent presence speaks a deeper word;
What fullness dwells within your quiet will,
Where all the music of the soul is heard!
In secret nights the flowing fountains chime,
And shadows dance beneath the arching trees;
The singers see, beyond the reach of time,
The silken hems that stir within the breeze.
A thousand Graces sit upon a lash,
Upon the very fringe of Eva’s eye;
But here, where fruits and wine in colors flash,
The poppy blooms beneath a purple sky.
A thousand Graces dance their rhythmic turns,
In veils that whisper soft upon the air;
While Orpheus, with the heart that ever burns,
Brings forth his lyre to catch the beauty there.
The Indian valleys and the forest deeps
Are gathered here within this earthly ground;
The sandalwood harp-string vibrates as it weeps,
To sing the mysteries that here are found.
The fertile nard pours out its heavy scent,
The golden hare, in meditation wise,
Sends incense up, by cinnamon content,
To drift in clouds across the fragrant skies.
Flowers shower down on locks of flowing grace,
Pomegranate bells of red in heavy rain;
They fall to rest upon the resting-place
Where tresses nestle, free of any stain.
Eve plays with curls that grace her shell-like ear,
She winds the brown strands as she softly sighs;
Her bosom heaves, her smile becomes more dear,
As love’s own radiance deepens in her eyes.
All honeyed sweetness, nectar’s golden sting,
And candied sugar from the baker’s hand,
Turkish delights that paradise can bring,
She sips from jade throughout the blessed land!
Viva il Pappa! Evoe! The glasses ring,
In hymns of praise that echo from the soul;
Ave! The balm that only peace can bring,
As wine makes every broken spirit whole.
In everlasting May, O Maiden fair,
As May-Queen blooming in the eternal light;
So full of charm, so sweet beyond compare,
In soul-rest dwelling, graceful and bright.
With eyes so deep and warm, that pull the gaze
Into the night where stars begin to glow;
Your brown-toned grace, your charm’s alluring maze,
With pomegranate splendor set aglow!
O Madonna, with the golden fruit in hand,
With all the pomp the pomegranate brings;
Your face like jade from far-off Eastern land,
Your brows like night, your eyes the song of kings!
We sink into the night your gaze bestows,
To look into those eyes, so vast and deep;
May heaven grant the grace that overflows,
And let your dew upon my spirit steep.
I’ve drunk my fill from that Castalian well,
The Muse has breathed upon me with her fire;
She woke the spark that in my soul did dwell,
And burned the incense of my heart’s desire.
So let us sing the joy that never ends,
And multiply the bliss that she bestows;
The blessed genii, as the light descends,
Bear all our longing where the beauty flows.
But Echo is a spirit, nothing more,
A nymph, a phantom bride of ghostly kind;
A spiritual wedding, as the seers explore,
The love that only seeking souls can find.
Eve came unto the Morning Star’s domain,
Where orange groves and tresses wave and sway;
The genii gathered, laughing in the rain,
To hail the glory of the coming day.
The daimonion of her soul did rise,
In transfigured form, to reach the height;
She now has jewels where once were human eyes,
The Evening Star—the seer’s own beacon-light.
She flashes now with eyes of cat-like grace,
Or Botticelli’s almonds, soft and slow;
They rain their mercy on this holy place,
Beneath the lashes where the wonders grow.
Lash-showers, flashes of light and lashes of night!
So full of beauty, eyes that glow with love;
The voice is whispering, gentle and polite,
Like music floating from the spheres above.
O, piercing glances, writing with a dart,
The script of fire upon the fool’s desire;
Whatever passion stirs the glowing heart,
Is kindled here within your holy fire.
Heart, O heart, you love so well to dream!
Heart, O heart, let love consume the pain!
Behold yourself within the cosmic scheme,
Though in my dreams you still with me remain.
Not only in the crystal’s sharp design,
Or galaxies that wheel through empty space;
In dreams and foam, the sympathy divine
Lives and is woven in your saving grace.
Sympathetic sympathy! You are my joy!
Sympathetic sympathy! You are my sun!
Drunk with the fire, no sorrow can destroy,
The wine I drink until the day is done.
Drunk with the fire, I drink your cup of wine,
And sink within your womb to find my rest;
I wake as one who tastes the feast divine,
And find the world by your dear beauty blessed.
Glad meadows green and pastures wide and free,
With golden butterflies that drift and play;
The children clap their hands in jubilee,
As angels shade them on their joyful way.
The streams roll down from rocks of ancient stone,
The brooks are laughing in their stony bed;
The flowers bloom in all their glory shown,
And Eve walks on where golden silks are spread.
A paragon of kindness, inner light!
A silent Queen, so humble and so fair;
Her beauty’s fame rings out through all the night,
As all creation bows to meet her there.
We, the crawling creatures of the dust,
Lay down our burdens at your tired feet;
You crush the evil, as we know we must,
And make the pure and sweet your own retreat.
Truly, your feet are far too pure and white
To touch the worms that wander on the clay;
Let lotus-white and golden roses bright,
And heaven’s dew, kiss you upon your way!
O Queen of Paradise, stand at the gate,
Where roses climb and weave their thorny crown;
Speak as a Saint, and speak of happy fate,
To him who writes your royal beauty down.
How ill it fares for all the poet’s art,
When sin has stained the music of his tongue;
But with the cloak of love, she plays her part,
And covers all in blossoms, fair and young!
Sweet Eva, mirror of the life that lives,
The Mother of the living, source of grace;
No poet’s praise, that in your honor gives,
Is ever wasted in this holy place.
Remember, never has a soul been known
To beg for fullness and to be denied;
When in your light the eternal truth is shown,
And beauty’s honor is your gentle guide.
You let the apples fall for children’s hands,
And snowy flakes upon your lashes rest;
God finds His pleasure in your lovely strands,
And in your light, my rhymes are ever blessed.
Ineffable, unique, and perfect light,
A beauty far beyond the reach of mind;
So holy, pure, and artful in your might,
The figurehead that leaves the world behind!
We drift upon the blue and surging swell,
And let the boats go floating with the tide;
Where red-rose lilies and the lotus dwell,
The lover and the loved are side by side.
She in the Virgin’s sign, so high above,
He in the Phoenix-fields, where fires play;
Both wrapped in robes of sea-foam, born of love,
To praise the King who reigns in endless day!