Thou art my morning lark that waketh
My sleepy thoughts with sweetest song;
The morning dew that gently maketh
This weary old heart still beat so long;
Thou art air and the warm sun that giveth
Light and Life, Hope and Love so strong!
PoetaMatusèl reads
THOU ART THE REASON WHEREFORE
Precious Visitor, a brief comment – even just a greeting, added below, or a ‘Like’ – only costs you a very small effort, but will please me GREATLY, on reading it! Thank you. :O)
And now I can no longer like that sea
that envied you the colour of your eyes,
that jealous sea that would have liked
to be in my place, to keep you for itself.
For, everywhere I look, I see you eyes:
in patches of sky between the yellow
ginkgo biloba leaves, the last of winter;
among the fluffy clouds of early mornings;
below first hints of evenings far too early,
or over lightly-frosted sleeping grasses,
where not too high above the kestrel hovers,
having spotted tasty rewards for patience.
So I prefer to walk on beds of quiet rivers
that have never borne your tender steps,
nor should ever know of your existence.
Yet, even there, I clearly feel your presence!
PoetaMatusèl reads
FIRST DAYS OF YET ANOTHER NEW YEAR (WITHOUT YOU)
Prezioso Visitatore, che mi leggi: un breve commento, magari anche solo un saluto, scritto qui sotto, o un ‘Mi Piace’ cliccato, Ti costa solo un piccolo sforzo, però farà un GRANDE piacere a me, che lo trovo! Grazie. :O)
The room is full of people, lovely people,
who seem to hang from every word we say.
The air is full of verse, or sometimes music,
and impregnated with a sense of spell.
Our time appears suspended for an evening,
while English words of rivers freely flow,
then turn into Italian, down new rivers;
but you, you waft away over the Thames.
I find it hard to concentrate on doing
what I am, after all, here to do (my poetry)
while you, a Muse, are sitting here, so close,
beautiful, as ever – magnificent and more!
You are a rose, lost in the desert,
perhaps under some palm trees
of a tiny, forlorn, forgotten oasis.
Someone, surely, should rescue you,
and do it a.s.a.p. (as soon as possible),
for the longer you will be left there,
the higher the risk that you’ll perish!
But I am too old and too big, to be
that all-magical, mythical prince
that was born of a crash in the desert,
that dear boy with a spirit so selfless,
to sacrifice all for the good of a flower,
to give it all up for the love of a rose …
PoetaMatusèl reads
