ROSES
Blow to me, winds, from over the sea
Sigh from the islands bejeweling the deep,
Aquarius pouring her waters forever
Returning them all to their sleep.
Here the magician strides dark on the land
Pacing the moorlands to shadow the plain,
Deep is the rock as it dreams underground
Holding its face to the rain.
His heart is enclosed in a garland of thorn,
The lightning commands in his eyes,
But oh, the magician has roses to give;
Roses his caution denies.
Blow to me, winds, from over the hill,
Breathe from the woodlands that shine in the sun
Apples are perfuming Eden divine
There, where the magic’s begun.
Here the wisewoman is gathering herbs,
Secretly choosing them under the moon,
Mysterious scents rising into the night,
Bestowing their virtue too soon.
Her heart full of sorrow is withering fast,
Her sublety lives by the word,
The roses she never can gather herself
Sing their bright lovesongs unheard.
Blow to me winds, from over the sky,
Clear from the salt of the sparkling shore,
Tears on my eyelashes tracing a path,
Written in sea-sirens’ lore.
Here the magician joins hands with the witch,
Sharing a kiss by enveloping night,
Tangling limbs in the cloak of desire,
Love they must hide from the light.
Crimson the roses that bloom in his breast,
Answering crimson has she,
Torn from her blood by his garland of thorns,
Locked with a forfeited key.
Blow to me winds, from out of the past,
Weep from the innocent mornings we knew,
Bleak is my soul in the breath of today,
The hours of our loving so few.
Perhaps in a night of the eons to come,
The thicket of thorns may be broken away
But many a frost of the winter’s repose
Will it take for the blooming to stay
His heart is enclosed in a garland of thorn,
Her subtlety lives by the word,
But oh, the magician has roses to give;
With all of their lovesongs unheard.
Blow to me, winds, from over the sea
Breathe from the woodlands that shine in the sun
Tears on my eyelashes tracing a path,
For the magic of roses undone.
Roses