through knurly boughs surly éclat breaks,
burn of gold that rips the vineyard’s breast;
it cleavers slumber, all stray living shakes,
and bids the mourner’s heart forsake its rest.
o Godly Sun, thou art no tender flame,
but grim as verdict in the twilight’s hour;
thy light, as gars, enthrall the flesh with shame,
and sear the fragile bloom of mortal flower.
yet soft the Sea, with soughing lips of brine,
still thumps her griefs against the granite shore;
though wave on wave seems lush, of tone divine,
she gnaws the stone till stone it is no more.
thus love forays in twofold dread disguise:
now sudden fire, now patient tidal spell;
it strikes with glory, burns the blinded eyes,
or wears the years to dust with late farewell.
o Love, thou art a tyrant robed in grace,
of sweet miasma, vile in delight;
thou make a banquet of the heart’s own place,
and leave the corpse to banquet with the night.
no mortal choice avails ’gainst Love’s decree;
its law is writ in fire and surging sea.
naturally, fatally, all lovers know:
the last, most faithful act is;
let them go.
🃏
