Incipit prohemium tercii libri.

O blisful light of whiche the bemes clere  
Adorneth al the thridde hevene faire!
O sonnes lief, O Ioves doughter dere,
Plesaunce of love, O goodly debonaire,
In gentil hertes ay redy to repaire!  
O verray cause of hele and of gladnesse,
Y-heried be thy might and thy goodnesse!

In hevene and helle, in erthe and salte see
Is felt thy might, if that I wel descerne;
As man, brid, best, fish, herbe and grene tree  
Thee fele in tymes with vapour eterne.
God loveth, and to love wol nought werne;
And in this world no lyves creature,
With-outen love, is worth, or may endure.

Ye Ioves first to thilke effectes glade,  
Thorugh which that thinges liven alle and be,
Comeveden, and amorous him made
On mortal thing, and as yow list, ay ye
Yeve him in love ese or adversitee;
And in a thousand formes doun him sente  
For love in erthe, and whom yow liste, he hente.

Ye fierse Mars apeysen of his ire,
And, as yow list, ye maken hertes digne;
Algates, hem that ye wol sette a-fyre,
They dreden shame, and vices they resigne;  
Ye do hem corteys be, fresshe and benigne,
And hye or lowe, after a wight entendeth;
The Ioyes that he hath, your might him sendeth.

Ye holden regne and hous in unitee;
Ye soothfast cause of frendship been also;  
Ye knowe al thilke covered qualitee
Of thinges which that folk on wondren so,
Whan they can not construe how it may io,
She loveth him, or why he loveth here;
As why this fish, and nought that, comth to were.  

Ye folk a lawe han set in universe,
And this knowe I by hem that loveres be,
That who-so stryveth with yow hath the werse:
Now, lady bright, for thy benignitee,
At reverence of hem that serven thee,  
Whos clerk I am, so techeth me devyse
Som Ioye of that is felt in thy servyse.

Ye in my naked herte sentement
Inhelde, and do me shewe of thy swetnesse. --
Caliope, thy vois be now present,  
For now is nede; sestow not my destresse,
How I mot telle anon-right the gladnesse
Of Troilus, to Venus heryinge?
To which gladnes, who nede hath, god him bringe!

Explicit prohemium Tercii Libri.

Incipit Liber Tercius.

Lay al this mene whyle Troilus,  
Recordinge his lessoun in this manere,
'Ma fey!' thought he, 'Thus wole I seye and thus;
Thus wole I pleyne unto my lady dere;
That word is good, and this shal be my chere;
This nil I not foryeten in no wyse.'  
God leve him werken as he can devyse!

And, lord, so that his herte gan to quappe,
Heringe hir come, and shorte for to syke!
And Pandarus, that ledde hir by the lappe,
Com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke,  
And seyde, 'God do bote on alle syke!
See, who is here yow comen to visyte;
Lo, here is she that is your deeth to wyte.'

Ther-with it semed as he wepte almost;
'A ha,' quod Troilus so rewfully,  
'Wher me be wo, O mighty god, thow wost!
Who is al there? I se nought trewely.'
'Sire,' quod Criseyde, 'it is Pandare and I.'
'Ye, swete herte? Allas, I may nought ryse
To knele, and do yow honour in som wyse.'  

And dressede him upward, and she right tho
Gan bothe here hondes softe upon him leye,
'O, for the love of god, do ye not so
To me,' quod she, 'Ey! What is this to seye?
Sire, come am I to yow for causes tweye;  
First, yow to thonke, and of your lordshipe eke
Continuance I wolde yow biseke.'

This Troilus, that herde his lady preye
Of lordship him, wex neither quik ne deed,
Ne mighte a word for shame to it seye,  
Al-though men sholde smyten of his heed.
But lord, so he wex sodeinliche reed,
And sire, his lesson, that he wende conne,
To preyen hir, is thurgh his wit y-ronne.

Cryseyde al this aspyede wel y-nough,  
For she was wys, and lovede him never-the-lasse,
Al nere he malapert, or made it tough,
Or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse.
But whan his shame gan somwhat to passe,
His resons, as I may my rymes holde,  
I yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde.

In chaunged vois, right for his verray drede,
Which vois eek quook, and ther-to his manere
Goodly abayst, and now his hewes rede,
Now pale, un-to Criseyde, his lady dere,  
With look doun cast and humble yolden chere,
Lo, the alderfirste word that him asterte
Was, twyes, 'Mercy, mercy, swete herte!'

And stinte a whyl, and whan he mighte out-bringe,
The nexte word was, 'God wot, for I have,  
As feyfully as I have had konninge,
Ben youres, also god so my sowle save;
And shal til that I, woful wight, be grave.
And though I dar ne can un-to yow pleyne,
Y-wis, I suffre nought the lasse peyne.  

'Thus muche as now, O wommanliche wyf,
I may out-bringe, and if this yow displese,
That shal I wreke upon myn owne lyf
Right sone, I trowe, and doon your herte an ese,
If with my deeth your herte I may apese.  
But sin that ye han herd me som-what seye,
Now recche I never how sone that I deye.'

Ther-with his manly sorwe to biholde,
It mighte han maad an herte of stoon to rewe;
And Pandare weep as he to watre wolde,  
And poked ever his nece newe and newe,
And seyde, 'Wo bigon ben hertes trewe!
For love of god, make of this thing an ende,
Or slee us bothe at ones, er that ye wende.'

'I? What?' quod she, 'By god and by my trouthe,  
I noot nought what ye wilne that I seye.'
'I? What?' quod he, 'That ye han on him routhe,
For goddes love, and doth him nought to deye.'
'Now thanne thus,' quod she, 'I wolde him preye
To telle me the fyn of his entente;  
Yet wist I never wel what that he mente.'

'What that I mene, O swete herte dere?'
Quod Troilus, 'O goodly, fresshe free!
That, with the stremes of your eyen clere,
Ye wolde som-tyme freendly on me see,  
And thanne agreen that I may ben he,
With-oute braunche of vyce on any wyse,
In trouthe alwey to doon yow my servyse,

'As to my lady right and chief resort,
With al my wit and al my diligence,  
And I to han, right as yow list, comfort,
Under your yerde, egal to myn offence,
As deeth, if that I breke your defence;
And that ye deigne me so muche honoure,
Me to comaunden ought in any houre.  

'And I to ben your verray humble trewe,
Secret, and in my paynes pacient,
And ever-mo desire freshly newe,
To serven, and been y-lyke ay diligent,
And, with good herte, al holly your talent  
Receyven wel, how sore that me smerte,
Lo, this mene I, myn owene swete herte.'

Quod Pandarus, 'Lo, here an hard request,
And resonable, a lady for to werne!
Now, nece myn, by natal Ioves fest,  
Were I a god, ye sholde sterve as yerne,
That heren wel, this man wol no-thing yerne
But your honour, and seen him almost sterve,
And been so looth to suffren him yow serve.'

With that she gan hir eyen on him caste  
Ful esily, and ful debonairly,
Avysing hir, and hyed not to faste
With never a word, but seyde him softely,
'Myn honour sauf, I wol wel trewely,
And in swich forme as he can now devyse,  
Receyven him fully to my servyse,

'Biseching him, for goddes love, that he
Wolde, in honour of trouthe and gentilesse,
As I wel mene, eek mene wel to me,
And myn honour, with wit and besinesse  
Ay kepe; and if I may don him gladnesse,
From hennes-forth, y-wis, I nil not feyne:
Now beeth al hool; no lenger ye ne pleyne.

'But nathelees, this warne I yow,' quod she,
'A kinges sone al-though ye be, y-wis,  
Ye shal na-more have soverainetee
Of me in love, than right in that cas is;
Ne I nil forbere, if that ye doon a-mis,
To wrathen yow; and whyl that ye me serve,
Cherycen yow right after ye deserve.  

'And shortly, dere herte and al my knight,
Beth glad, and draweth yow to lustinesse,
And I shal trewely, with al my might,
Your bittre tornen al in-to swetenesse.
If I be she that may yow do gladnesse,  
For every wo ye shal recovere a blisse';
And him in armes took, and gan him kisse.

Fil Pandarus on knees, and up his eyen
To hevene threw, and held his hondes hye,
'Immortal god!' quod he, 'That mayst nought dyen,  
Cupide I mene, of this mayst glorifye;
And Venus, thou mayst maken melodye;
With-outen hond, me semeth that in the towne,
For this merveyle, I here ech belle sowne.

'But **! No more as now of this matere,  
For-why this folk wol comen up anoon,
That han the lettre red; lo, I hem here.
But I coniure thee, Criseyde, and oon,
And two, thou Troilus, whan thow mayst goon,
That at myn hous ye been at my warninge,  
For I ful wel shal shape youre cominge;

'And eseth ther your hertes right y-nough;
And lat see which of yow shal bere the belle
To speke of love a-right!' ther-with he lough,
'For ther have ye a layser for to telle.'  
Quod Troilus, 'How longe shal I dwelle
Er this be doon?' Quod he, 'Whan thou mayst ryse,
This thing shal be right as I yow devyse.'

With that Eleyne and also Deiphebus
Tho comen upward, right at the steyres ende;  
And Lord, so than gan grone Troilus,
His brother and his suster for to blende.
Quod Pandarus, 'It tyme is that we wende;
Tak, nece myn, your leve at alle three,
And lat hem speke, and cometh forth with me.'  

She took hir leve at hem ful thriftily,
As she wel coude, and they hir reverence
Un-to the fulle diden hardely,
And speken wonder wel, in hir absence,
Of hir, in preysing of hir excellence,  
Hir governaunce, hir wit; and hir manere
Commendeden, it Ioye was to here.

Now lat hir wende un-to hir owne place,
And torne we to Troilus a-yein,
That gan ful lightly of the lettre passe  
That Deiphebus hadde in the gardin seyn.
And of Eleyne and him he wolde fayn
Delivered been, and seyde that him leste
To slepe, and after tales have reste.

Eleyne him kiste, and took hir leve blyve,  
Deiphebus eek, and hoom wente every wight;
And Pandarus, as faste as he may dryve,
To Troilus tho com, as lyne right;
And on a paillet, al that glade night,
By Troilus he lay, with mery chere,  
To tale; and wel was hem they were y-fere.

Whan every wight was voided but they two,
And alle the dores were faste y-shette,
To telle in short, with-oute wordes mo,
This Pandarus, with-outen any lette,  
Up roos, and on his beddes syde him sette,
And gan to speken in a sobre wyse
To Troilus, as I shal yow devyse:

'Myn alderlevest lord, and brother dere,
God woot, and thou, that it sat me so sore,  
When I thee saw so languisshing to-yere,
For love, of which thy wo wex alwey more;
That I, with al my might and al my lore,
Have ever sithen doon my bisinesse
To bringe thee to Ioye out of distresse,  

'And have it brought to swich plyt as thou wost,
So that, thorugh me, thow stondest now in weye
To fare wel, I seye it for no bost,
And wostow which? For shame it is to seye,
For thee have I bigonne a gamen pleye  
Which that I never doon shal eft for other,
Al-though he were a thousand fold my brother.

'That is to seye, for thee am I bicomen,
Bitwixen game and ernest, swich a mene
As maken wommen un-to men to comen;  
Al sey I nought, thou wost wel what I mene.
For thee have I my nece, of vyces clene,
So fully maad thy gentilesse triste,
That al shal been right as thy-selve liste.

'But god, that al wot, take I to witnesse,  
That never I this for coveityse wroughte,
But only for to abregge that distresse,
For which wel nygh thou deydest, as me thoughte.
But, gode brother, do now as thee oughte,
For goddes love, and kep hir out of blame,  
Sin thou art wys, and save alwey hir name.

'For wel thou wost, the name as yet of here
Among the peple, as who seyth, halwed is;
For that man is unbore, I dar wel swere,
That ever wiste that she dide amis.  
But wo is me, that I, that cause al this,
May thenken that she is my nece dere,
And I hir eem, and trattor eek y-fere!

'And were it wist that I, through myn engyn,
Hadde in my nece y-put this fantasye,  
To do thy lust, and hoolly to be thyn,
Why, al the world up-on it wolde crye,
And seye, that I the worste trecherye
Dide in this cas, that ever was bigonne,
And she for-lost, and thou right nought y-wonne.  

'Wher-fore, er I wol ferther goon a pas,
Yet eft I thee biseche and fully seye,
That privetee go with us in this cas;
That is to seye, that thou us never wreye;
And be nought wrooth, though I thee ofte preye  
To holden secree swich an heigh matere;
For skilful is, thow wost wel, my preyere.

'And thenk what wo ther hath bitid er this,
For makinge of avantes, as men rede;
And what mischaunce in this world yet ther is,  
Fro day to day, right for that wikked dede;
For which these wyse clerkes that ben dede
Han ever yet proverbed to us yonge,
That "Firste vertu is to kepe tonge."

'And, nere it that I wilne as now tabregge  
Diffusioun of speche, I coude almost
A thousand olde stories thee alegge
Of wommen lost, thorugh fals and foles bost;
Proverbes canst thy-self y-nowe, and wost,
Ayeins that vyce, for to been a labbe,  
Al seyde men sooth as often as they gabbe.

'O tonge, allas! So often here-biforn
Hastow made many a lady bright of hewe
Seyd, "Welawey! The day that I was born!"
And many a maydes sorwes for to newe;  
And, for the more part, al is untrewe
That men of yelpe, and it were brought to preve;
Of kinde non avauntour is to leve.

'Avauntour and a lyere, al is on;
As thus: I pose, a womman graunte me  
Hir love, and seyth that other wol she non,
And I am sworn to holden it secree,
And after I go telle it two or three;
Y-wis, I am avauntour at the leste,
And lyere, for I breke my biheste.  

'Now loke thanne, if they be nought to blame,
Swich maner folk; what shal I clepe hem, what,
That hem avaunte of wommen, and by name,
That never yet bihighte hem this ne that,
Ne knewe hem more than myn olde hat?  
No wonder is, so god me sende hele,
Though wommen drede with us men to dele.

'I sey not this for no mistrust of yow,
Ne for no wys man, but for foles nyce,
And for the harm that in the world is now,  
As wel for foly ofte as for malyce;
For wel wot I, in wyse folk, that vyce
No womman drat, if she be wel avysed;
For wyse ben by foles harm chastysed.

'But now to purpos; leve brother dere,  
Have al this thing that I have seyd in minde,
And keep thee clos, and be now of good chere,
For at thy day thou shalt me trewe finde.
I shal thy proces sette in swich a kinde,
And god to-forn, that it shall thee suffyse,  
For it shal been right as thou wolt devyse.

'For wel I woot, thou menest wel, parde;
Therfore I dar this fully undertake.
Thou wost eek what thy lady graunted thee,
And day is set, the chartres up to make.  
Have now good night, I may no lenger wake;
And bid for me, sin thou art now in blisse,
That god me sende deeth or sone lisse.'

Who mighte telle half the Ioye or feste
Which that the sowle of Troilus tho felte,  
Heringe theffect of Pandarus biheste?
His olde wo, that made his herte swelte,
Gan tho for Ioye wasten and to-melte,
And al the richesse of his sykes sore
At ones fledde, he felte of hem no more.  

But right so as these holtes and these hayes,
That han in winter dede been and dreye,
Revesten hem in grene, whan that May is,
Whan every ***** lyketh best to pleye;
Right in that selve wyse, sooth to seye,  
Wax sodeynliche his herte ful of Ioye,
That gladder was ther never man in Troye.

And gan his look on Pandarus up caste
Ful sobrely, and frendly for to see,
And seyde, 'Freend, in Aprille the laste,  
As wel thou wost, if it remembre thee,
How neigh the deeth for wo thou founde me;
And how thou didest al thy bisinesse
To knowe of me the cause of my distresse.

'Thou wost how longe I it for-bar to seye  
To thee, that art the man that I best triste;
And peril was it noon to thee by-wreye,
That wiste I wel; but tel me, if thee liste,
Sith I so looth was that thy-self it wiste,
How dorst I mo tellen of this matere,  
That quake now, and no wight may us here?

'But natheles, by that god I thee swere,
That, as him list, may al this world governe,
And, if I lye, Achilles with his spere
Myn herte cleve, al were my lyf eterne,  
As I am mortal, if I late or yerne
Wolde it b

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Which is the weakest thing of all
Mine heart can ponder?
The sun, a little cloud can pall
With darkness yonder?
The cloud, a little wind can move
Where’er it listeth?
The wind, a little leaf above,
Though sere, resisteth?

What time that yellow leaf was green,
My days were gladder;
But now, whatever Spring may mean,
I must grow sadder.
Ah me! a leaf with sighs can wring
My lips asunder—
Then is mine heart the weakest thing
Itself can ponder.

Yet, Heart, when sun and cloud are pined
And drop together,
And at a blast, which is not wind,
The forests wither,
Thou, from the darkening deathly curse
To glory breakest,—
The Strongest of the universe
Guarding the weakest!

There's blood between us, love, my love,
There's father's blood, there's brother's blood;
And blood's a bar I cannot pass.
I choose the stairs that mount above,
Stair after golden sky-ward stair,
To city and to sea of glass.
My lily feet are soiled with mud,
With scarlet mud which tells a tale
Of hope that was, of guilt that was,
Of love that shall not yet avail;
Alas, my heart, if I could bare
My heart, this selfsame stain is there:
I seek the sea of glass and fire
To wash the spot, to burn the snare;
Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher:
Mount with me, mount the kindled stair.

Your eyes look earthward, mine look up.
I see the far-off city grand,
Beyond the hills a watered land,
Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand
Of mansions where the righteous sup;
Who sleep at ease among their trees,
Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn
With Cherubim and Seraphim.
They bore the Cross, they drained the cup,
Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb,
They the offscouring of the world:
The heaven of starry heavens unfurled,
The sun before their face is dim.

You looking earthward, what see you?
Milk-white, wine-flushed among the vines,
Up and down leaping, to and fro,
Most glad, most full, made strong with wines,
Blooming as peaches pearled with dew,
Their golden windy hair afloat,
Love-music warbling in their throat,
Young men and women come and go.

You linger, yet the time is short:
Flee for your life, gird up your strength
To flee; the shadows stretched at length
Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh;
Flee to the mountain, tarry not.
Is this a time for smile and sigh,
For songs among the secret trees
Where sudden blue birds nest and sport?
The time is short and yet you stay:
To-day, while it is called to-day,
Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray;
To-day is short, to-morrow night:
Why will you die?  why will you die?

You sinned with me a pleasant sin:
Repent with me, for I repent.
Woe's me the lore I must unlearn!
Woe's me the easy way we went,
So rugged when I would return!
How long until my sleep begin,
How long shall stretch these nights and days?
Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays;
She laves her soul with tedious tears:
How long must stretch these years and years?

I turn from you my cheeks and eyes,
My hair which you shall see no more--
Alas for joy that went before,
For joy that dies, for love that dies!
Only my lips still turn to you,
My livid lips that cry, Repent!
O weary life, O weary Lent,
O weary time whose stars are few!
How should I rest in Paradise,
Or sit on steps of heaven alone?
If Saints and Angels spoke of love,
Should I not ansnwer from my throne,
Have pity upon me, ye my friends,
For I have heard the sound thereof.
Should I not turn with yearning eyes,
Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang?
Oh save me from a pang in heaven!
By all the gifts we took and gave,
Repent, repent, and be forgiven.
This life is long, but yet it ends;
Repent and purge your soul and save:
No gladder song the morning stars
Upon their birthday morning sang
Than Angels sing when one repents.

I tell you what I dreamed last night.
A spirit with transfigured face
Fire-footed clomb an infinite space.
I heard his hundred pinions clang,
Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang,
Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents,
Worlds spun upon their rushing cars:
He mounted shrieking "Give me light!"
Still light was poured on him, more light;
Angels, Archangels he outstripped,
Exultant in exceeding might,
And trod the skirts of Cherubim.
Still "Give me light," he shrieked; and dipped
His thirsty face, and drank a sea,
Athirst with thirst it could not slake.
I saw him, drunk with knowledge take

From aching brows the aureole crown--
His locks writhe like a cloven snake--
He left his throne to grovel down
And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet:
For what is knowledge duly weighed?
Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet;
Yea all the progress he had made
Was but to learn that all is small
Save love, for love is all in all.

I tell you what I dreamed last night.
It was not dark, it was not light,
Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair
Through clay; you came to seek me there,
And "Do you dream of me?" you said.
My heart was dust that used to leap
To you; I answered half asleep:
"My pillow is damp, my sheets are red,
There's a leaden tester to my bed:
Find you a warmer playfellow,
A warmer pillow for your head,
A kinder love to love than mine."
You wrung your hands: while I, like lead,
Crushed downwards through the sodden earth:
You smote your hands but not in mirth,
And reeled but were not drunk with wine.

For all night long I dreamed of you:
I woke and prayed against my will,
Then slept to dream of you again.
At length I rose and knelt and prayed.
I cannot write the words I said,
My words were slow, my tears were few;
But through the dark my silence spoke
Like thunder.  When this morning broke,
My face was pinched, my hair was grey,
And frozen blood was on the sill
Where stifling in my struggle I lay.

If now you saw me you would say:
Where is the face I used to love?
And I would answer: Gone before;
It tarries veiled in Paradise.
When once the morning star shall rise,
When earth with shadow flees away
And we stand safe within the door,
Then you shall lift the veil thereof.
Look up, rise up: for far above
Our palms are grown, our place is set;
There we shall meet as once we met,
And love with old familiar love.

Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows!
There is a subtle sweetness in the sun,
The ripples on the stream's breast gaily run,
The wind more boisterously by me blows,
And each succeeding day now longer grows.
The birds a gladder music have begun,
The squirrel, full of mischief and of fun,
From maples' topmost branch the brown twig throws.
I read these pregnant signs, know what they mean:
I know that thou art making ready to go.
Oh stay! I fled a land where fields are green
Always, and palms wave gently to and fro,
And winds are balmy, blue brooks ever sheen,
To ease my heart of its impassioned woe.

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove,
Of golden sand, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run,
Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun.
And there the enamoured fish will stay.
Begging themselves they may betray.

When wilt thou swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, beest loath,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both;
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset
With strangling snare, or windowy net.

Let course bold hand from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest,
Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wandering eyes.

For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,
For thou thyself are thine own bait;
That fish that is not catched thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

My shy hand shades a hermitage apart, -
O large enough for thee, and thy brief hours.
Life there is sweeter held than in God's heart,
Stiller than in the heavens of hollow flowers.


The wine is gladder there than in gold bowls.
And Time shall not drain thence, nor trouble spill.
Sources between my fingers feed all souls,
Where thou mayest cool thy lips, and draw thy fill.


Five cushions hath my hand, for reveries;
And one deep pillow for thy brow's fatigues;
Languor of June all winterlong, and ease
For ever from the vain untravelled leagues.


Thither your years may gather in from storm,
And Love, that sleepeth there, will keep thee warm.

my computer is dying and you're gone and i'm glad but you keep trying to poke your way back in through tiny cracks that i ought to seal but instead i leave open because if you found them closed you would ache and i can't do that even if it is what you deserve and i am already moving on because someone else appreciates me and i appreciate me and you didn't so you're gone and i'm glad and someone is quickly appearing in my peripheral but i don't want them to be you and i don't want to want them because of you as far as i can tell i just like them and so you're gone and i'm glad but you keep seeping in through these cracks that i should probably seal soon because it's rather annoying to see little bits of you here and there and i don't want them around because i'm moving forwards and i don't want you around because you're gone and i'm glad and if you'd stay gone i'd be gladder

Be unclad of all fear,
o child mine,
of all of its grip and
its guile,

and be light as the air,
as the air, my love, as the
light and the air at dawn.

                  * * *

Let your gladness be sought,
o child mine,
be sought, the desire of your heart,

and may those that pass by be
the gladder for your touch;
the gladder, child that I love.

                  * * *
                  
Be you clad in all colors,
o child mine,
in all colors, my love, save one.

And that color you will hold
in the palm of your hand,
and your eye will always be on it.

                  * * *

Its weight you must ken,
o child that I love, its weight,
that you'll surely keep steady,

for it's woe to you, and loss
beyond loss, if that weight
should ever be greater.

Oh it's woe to you, and loss
beyond loss, if that weight
should ever be greater.

Loved with everlasting love,
Led  by grace that love to know,
Spirit breathing from above,
Thou hast taught me it is so,
Oh , this full and perfect peace !
Oh, this transport all divine !
In a love which cannot cease,
I am His , and He is mine.

In a love which cannot cease ,
I am His, and He is mine.

Heaven above is softer blue,
Earth around is sweeter green!
Something lives in every hue,
Christless eyes have never seen;
Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,
Flowers with deeper beauties shine,
Since I know , as now I know,
I am His , and He is mine.

Since I know , as now I know,
I am His, and He is mine.

Things that  once were wild alarms
Cannot now disturb my rest;
Closed in everlasting arms,
Pillowed on the loving breast,
Oh, to  lie for ever here;
Doubt and care and self resign,
While He whispers in my ear--
I am His , and He is mine!

While  He whispers in my ear --
I am His and He is mine!

His for ever, only His;
Who the Lord and me shall part?
Ah! with what a rest of bliss
Christ can fill the loving heart!
Heaven and earth may fade and flee,
First born light in gloom decline  !
But , while God and I shall be,
I am His and He is mine.

But while God and I shall be,
I am His, and He is mine?

Rain, Turn on the music of your thunder's splendid sound,
strike your magnificent  lighting on the ground.
Your frigid wind shivers my soul within.
Every drop of rain cascades my rosy cheeks
How sweetly the rain kisses my parted lips.

oh rain, drench me with your love,
don't stop pouring your affection in my heart.
The gloomier the day,
the gladder I'd be;
The darker the world,
the brighter my heart would be.

Even  your own two feet,
Fight for their territory,
Peacefully,
Yet defensively,
Growing venomously.
And ‘us’ won’t be satisfied,
By ‘happy’,
But would rather search out (for you, for us),
A heavier feeling to rejoice in.

Heavy makes happy now,
We are glad when it comes,
Gladder when he leaves.
But still, I see you yearn for his returning.

Come back! Come back to us!
I am a mountain, didn’t you know?
I can engulf you,
If I so choose.
Swallow you whole,
Covering your world to darkness,
To join me in my game,
Of non-existence.
You’ll find me in the empty bath tub,
Where the game is best played out,
This cold inviting tomb.
Peaceful,
Peaceful,
Quiet.

Won’t it be?
Perfectly still –
For once, For once.

I am a fetus within your womb.
Carry me gentle,
Mother,
I am fragile,
I am easily broken.
Shattering like the shard of moon and star,
That lie now upon my window sill –
Still.

I caught them.
All of them.
For us to see and share and hold.
Won’t you hold them?
Hold me?
Hold us?

And from the silence a gasp!
Awake!
Do not slumber!
Now is not the time for sleep.
Do not waste it,
This moment,
Where we are free to smile beneath the night-time’s Sun.

Awaken, dear allies.
I cling you to my side.
You are mine,
And if you’ll have me,
I shall be yours.
That sounds just fine.
As do we.

I hear you mumble,
Mumble.
Be clear please,
Clearer.
I’ve travelled destination-less too long.
Sometimes it scares me.
Please,
Speak a little louder.
Include me,
Inform me,
That I might know the master plan.

Perhaps I'll just escape.

Had it been a year ago,
you'd tell me a cough would be the scariest thing to hear,
I wouldn't want to be in that year.

Had it been a year ago,
The common flu wound be the death of so many,
I'd think all common diseases are working to be my enemy.

Had it been a year ago,
the four walls of my home would be my very prison,
I'd think the year had gone against us, so I can call treason.

See,
I've feared enough in my life,
to never fear the same thing twice,
But now I see,
I'm much afraid of a sickness,
that I fear twice of my own cleanliness.

As I see,
the flu is the possible thing to take my life
Sorry, but am I even reading that right?


Now this year,
I was told to be insecure of how clean my hands are,
rather than being insecure of myself.
To make social distancing a trend,
for the sake of my health.

To now questioning how this might all end.  
Sorry but I had a more eventful  year planned out,
rather than this year instead.

Now,
tell me what is the cause,
I've heard so many theories, but who really knows.

Tell me how it got here,
I've heard it came from so many places, but I fear mostly that it might be near

Tell me why I'm in Lockdown,
the news told me it was the safer way to live, but my isolation isn't doing me the best to stay calm.

But just tell me please,
where did this Corona come from.

Was it the hands of man,
who for the many good we make, we make one bad to throw it off,
Was this the supposed plan,
decrease the population and leave them all guessing where this virus came from?

Sigh,
never mind the cause.
Why question so long of things we don't really control
Human nature often pushes us to question everyone of our flaws.

Pull away from that disease,
maybe do yourself the justice of getting on your knees
Maybe pray a little more than you'd like people to believe.
Then again you were taught well to know asking is the only way to receive.

A cure really is what our hearts are hoping dearly to receive.

But have you prayed enough,
given your all, till all was foreign to you
Taken the time to fast as much
Asked the Lord how the cure would look if the cure was in you,
and all of us.

I seem that silly to think such a thing,
but I've heard a man state "he has a dream",
And my dream is such a thing wouldn't be as hard as it seems,
We just have to believe.

Believe that we'll conquer this pandemic,
For I refuse to let a sort of flu be my death,
I won't accept it.
I may be isolated, Locked away from all my people,
But I'm still connected.

I won't shy away to check on a brother by the dial,
"Hey there brother, wanted to know if you're doing fine
Or quite bluntly are you still alive"
I kinda figured my concern of your life might add more time to mine.

I'll still be connected.
I won't be defeated,
Cause I won't accept it,
I'm broken yes,  but I still have a lot of fight within my pieces.

From them I remind myself of what I've once said,

The world is in a moment of chaos, but only as a moment.
So if the miracle the Lord has for us appears in or after the chaos we'll  be the ones to show it.
I may act a little selfish and say I own it.

But I'll never own the victory of all my people,
I've told myself, "at the end of this all we'll share this victory as equals"

We're the cure but only if we're willing

Willing enough to pray to be the cure of this virus,
I've prayed to him enough to though he wouldn't deny us
Cause he told me all our battles don't break us, but only define us.

And I'm defined to be  the cure if I'm willing,
cause I'm grown tired of people dying,
To hearing that corona did the killing.

I'll be the cure for my people,
ask them to be one for another,
To be the one's to call up a sister,
send a text to a brother.
Show compassion more than a little,
Cause right now should be the time we learn how best to love one another.
Perhaps more than a little.

And that love doesn't need a gesture of being the biggest hugger,
Rather of the simple task of checking on one other.

The cure or cause to me can't be the thing that matters
I just want my year and people back
And I'd never be much gladder.
Cause the cure or cause to me can't be the thing that matters
I just want this all to end, and go back to the days of happiness and laughter.

every day is like a brand new opportunity for nightfall.
i’m not mad about that. I’m a poet, and poets are mad hatters.
i awoke with my tongue in my shoes.
but my feet were not my stride.
every now and then...the Past is a tad sadder.
but i’m happy through it all
yet cannot laugh gladder.
like cat food and consciousness.
i persist like a meal
for a wee beast
and a think.

or I don't matter.

Layers, lifted veiled or gifted, I abide the climbing frame
Greyer, jilted hope is stilted, by and by a rhyming came
Player, plenty a pen/a penny, all the riches richly choose
Mayor, mention golden pension, sit alone and saintly lose

Ladder, leading homely pleading, up and down and back again
Fatter, fated over waited, on the table glass of gin
Gladder, giver heart a liver, all inside for outer sheen
Patter, pity light the city, gritty ****** call it clean

Cover, clotted twicely blotted, white-out for a paper new
Lover, linger point the finger, saying them and meaning you
Hover, heated mother pleaded, visit just for one more day
Subtle, suited aptly rooted, unassuming still the change

I miss you
But I've found a way to stand
the missing,
by never missing you at all.

You see, I see you still.

I saw you walking by the seawall
just the other day,
sure-footed, yet in no particular hurry.
Left stride a little longer than the right,
that tiny tilt,
your "flippers" flopping with each step into October.
Who else but you?
Though barely a blip in the distance, I knew
I just knew.

I swiped right the other week
and later on the phone,
I cracked a joke to break the ice.
He laughed your laugh-
this Sudden
unexpected,
joyful,
slightly manic howl.
I kept my clown nose on all night for you,
gladder than glad
to be the fool
to hear that laugh again.

Sometimes,
I find a piece of you in someones voice-
trapped in a throat,
Revealing bits
through code that only you and I could know.

Sometimes
I'll catch a glimpse of you
in someones convictions
and I'll argue with you for hours.
We never did agree on many things ...

Sometimes I'll slip and whisper "baby"
When we're making love
******* completely in two syllables  
before a perfect stranger.

Sometimes,
when I make this space
-our space, pitch black
If I steady my breath-
your breath just so,
and picture nothing at all,
I can almost trick myself into believing you're still here-
I see you still.

After my poem “Ageing” I received the following comment.  One on which I hadn’t reckoned.  It inspired this answer and a new poem:

“Well, it is so true and depressing. I was reading this hoping that you wrote something positive at the end, bot not…I would really like you to conclude the poem with a POSITIVE end.  It’s my desperate request as I need it.”
T.

Dearest T—-
     The positive in it is this: If you soak yourself in every moment (which requires constant trying - for trying is training - focussing on every breath, every deed, your whole existence changes.  The point is to become ‘perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect’ while you’re still alive.  Then there comes an automatic joy and insight In other words, the whole chemistry changes.  Ageing doesn’t change, but you do!  And for the better.  
     We must talk about this!  But I’ll continue to send you my poetry for most is filled with hope and optimism.  Even fun and funny.

Soak Yourself In Every Moment Or, Trying Is Training

Keep cool inside yourself.  
Detachment is the key.
It’s not un-interest or indifference:
But an objectivity, Impartiality,
Ability to see
                    things as they really are;
Possibility in probability
And vice versa.

When you peel off the outer, see the inner,
The illusion of exclusion drops away,
Inclusion comes to stay
And you’re so much, shall we say,
Gladder, gay.*
(There was a time when gay meant light and full of glee;
Free of care, carefree:
A surely helpful way to be).
Keep cool and be life’s fool: flexib’ool’, adaptab’ool’,
Versatile and tool of circumstance.
Life can be a dance,
Full of significance,
Non-material,
And joyful.
Soak yourself with honesty
In every little point in time - and see.
Life’s often fun - and funny.

Trying Is Training 9.12.2018 A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

I hadn't felt
The fish is my daughter
Until I trapped it in my net
And it flapped like my son
Who had groaned because of pain
In his ball gladder............

Strength is the weakness
When sadness has the predicament of being
Comeliness
Microbes and cultured, like the brushing aside the business
The crimes and punishment, you can't save up for the love and the crass capital beating
Broken legs, break the prison humor, the convict's jungle rapping, touching the wrong towels
Breaking open skulls on the system of the broken street
Down on the hip stirring procreating street, with ******* tad adolescent folks
Never upon the crimson red, and thespian action
The resonant redacted symbol that tells you for the freedom of the lost symbols
Well, they're acting like the beats and bustards that break their necks at the shot of the bullish broken gun
Badland and Bambi could have been gladder if she were roadkill
Too bad we would be regretful and faithful
Marquis Sade and breaking the buzzing rhyme with the talk of divine tragedy
We love you pi, your irrational thinking
Got me dividing your attention, I might be grading if I start with English
Starting, the trombone blew out, the instrument was the one I was through
If I found the right hole, I'd press it better
If the fingers were wrapped and tapered, the beveled ceiling
And the pleasant mirror talks to me in my diggity
On the hollering heron on the halcyon buggying out on the funky freelance
Scarring the storms across the fire, break my bones
Serve my food to the military, break my pride
Take my mind, sell it up for tomorrow vegetables and today's debts
The droughts seem fresh in the rotten flesh, not sure if it's dehydrated
I'm blemished and pleased with my dealings, competing for the most damage
Do you wanna put a plate of food, for my last meal as a famed convict
Too bad isn't your turn to obviate all the mistakes I made in making the line before your mum
Serve it up in the Folsom prison, with the playing cons cool for their socks
Strikes and socialist assemblies turning out revolutions, like pamphlets for lost and found
We're still for freedom, I ran into the wrong neighborhood
Maybe, I followed the river where it flowed, trenchant isn't that followed a mind map
You can't move into the apartment, what kind of crap is that
Trapping me and pleasing me, and teasing me sensibly
I hope I denunciate another person on the slippery foam of frat parties
Festering droughts, freedom aborting the fedora
Hate crimes are returning the favor, in the worst possible
Tedious angst seems rather adult-like if you grow up in wrong shoes
Of your boot polishing forefather, I bet grew up in a better neighborhood
I somnambulantly place, that you want someone to talk
I talk my way out of dreams and look at faceless strife
I can't place the right word, the hurt's real honey
Humming bird like a bully underwhelmed by his tricks and traction
On the students of the same school called life

can't really say his name...

  but it is something
between
  the band cing krimson

      and rogue, anything
but numbering... one...

personally? i love to take the ****
out of someone
indirectly...

akin to, said example?
mate...

   why are you reading all these
women's books?
    
  i don't get it,
you never understood why
women ask young men
who read philosophy books:
why are you reading the works
of these senile hacks?!

     what the **** has a man
to do with reading fifty shades of grey...
a harry potter...
or the twilight trilogy?!
    more avocado on toast?!
what?! what?!
please! enlighten me!

must have missed something in
the memo...
          or the epitaph...

whichever it was...
   how can a man read a book
intended for women
and apparently assure their
****-pants brigade of teenage
girls that: **** is just as
**** appears on the cover...
of what otherwise amounts
to being merely *******...

    there is no female to male
ratio of literary convergence...
  somehow equalied with
   ******* love stories invoking
vampires or werewolves...

    nein, nie, no, niet!
  
    german, polish, english, russian...
and we know what each
implies...
      
i don't do post-scriptum
Harlequin novels...
         either a romance happens
in person, or it doesn't happen at all...
and i'm all the gladder when
the literature takes over,
and i'm relieved of the misery in real life...

beta male literature...
  and god... the need to make reviews...
let the women read their recyclable
farts of an honesty began...
and ended as soon as it were
began...

       women will not philosophy books...
they'll sooner play chess...
i'm not complaining...
   i'm happy they have the highest stratum
of literary digestion when in
comes to shelving books...
they read more, evidently...
  
i don't expect women to read
a book and subsequently think about it,
crafting a secondary narrative to
accomplish a book...

                 no *****, no game...
somehow the only originality is
confined to making: replica...

     surrogating the sin,
but somehow never attaining the origin,
with the original sin...
  
   hell...
            i am willing to leverage
weightless approach to the genesis metaphor -
woman is not to be blamed
for the original sin -
     man is...
   the forbidden "fruit"
  and the act of cannibalism...

as Christ clearly made the poetics of,
of insinuation...

             but...
   don't blame me for having a want
to deviate from the cliche love story...
while a teenage girl escapes
the ******* of pregnancy...
    
         at 19 you can't have children...
come the 20s, both of you graduate...
and there is a chance for responsibility
having matured in the both of you...

     till then...
                         can you really
consider yourself a man,
and read this feminine books?

              i guess the only thing worse
than giving a bad review
of such books...
is giving a review in the first place.

once upon a dream i stayed at a beach apartment complex
i went in sore and tender
i was coiled like a snake or a salamander in fresh linen
w white angel wings that never got me anywhere
like a faulty angel
but on that day in particular
it was hotter than ever

is there any affliction the sea water can’t cure
i have a headache from the sun
i feel hot standing next to u
i feel hotter lying in bed w u
i squint my eyes and submerge in the mesmerizing blue
like fluid glitter luring me closer as a siren
Odysseus finding his home in nowhere
i go in w u
bb u saved my life

i’m carefree but i think of everyone devoured by their own sea of mind
i contemplate all the time
and i wish i could’ve told u that i love u sooner

Esther, don’t chase rocks beckoning u from deep waters or u’ll hit rock bottom
Esther, i love u, u matter
u can’t just give in to the noir waves of the ocean as it won’t make anyone gladder

Susan, i’ll never forget u
i’m beyond grateful but i had to go on
people gossiped i was crazy for clinging to my own truth and i don’t regret it
if they don’t get it they can *******
i lost my zone of comfort in the name of love and i’m proud
i shouted out what had to be said and i never thought of letting go of ur hand
and i hardly ever shout
nobody gets to write ur story or change ur beautiful mind
i’m beyond happy i got to be the one to tell u this
bb i saved ur life

i can’t keep my eyes neither hands off of u
hold u tightly like i held Benjamin in summer of 2018 and spring of 2020
breathing in aloe vera in a sanctuary
a hundred dollar face tattooed on me
highlighting my worth that i can’t always see
don’t go
i won’t let go of u
promise u won’t let go of urself or of me or i’ll fall
and there won’t be anyone to catch me anymore

i can’t do it without u
won’t go for a swim without u
i’m afraid i may not find my way back if i go or ever find u

once upon real life i stayed at a beach apartment complex
i went out pure and happy
it was a beautiful dreaming session
like an ideal tropical vacation, honeymooning forever
every night felt like a sojourn in paradise
i was swimming in pearl white linen but it felt like i was swimming in a sea
i was hugging my pillow but it felt like i was holding the most beautiful person i’ve seen

I'm not against silence:

Silence of the laborious sea at night,
Silence after the gnawing at the drawer wood,
Silence when the ball falls and tips and then gets stuck in a hole,
Silence when the dog chases a cat and stops,
Silence of the mother's crying to get his lost son back,
Silence of the patient to get relief in pain in his gladder,
And silence of drones with truce between two countries;

But I'm against your silence:
Silence of your rolling lips,
Silence of your tongue that
Prints out complaint slips,
Silence of your hands
That avoid to hit my shoulders in chafe,
And silence when you move away without making love.