Tarchna dreams by the distant ocean
Nobody knows how long a dream.
Sorts of lore
Old when the testy cardinal, blazing,
Ripped his sword from the heinous beam;
Old before:
Look, strange hoards on the bristling shore.
What a humus of tombs! and the ghosts and tokens
Storm like gulls at the furrowing team.
Time out of mind a ledge in a meadow
Nobody saw as heft of hands,
Rainy-grey,
Passed with a glance by the steely Romans
Frowning bigger and better plans
Now, today,
Look, we have pried stone doors away!
What a burst of birds and frolic of dolphins
Swirling the air like banners and bands!
How they were drunk with hope, these children!
Nobody told them life was dour.
Gloomy tombs?
What, when tombs were salons for living!
Nothing had ended, that was sure.
Laurel blooms,
Look, in the bright, bird-flirting rooms.
What a chuckle of jugs, what crooning copper!
Flowers festooning the furniture!
And treasure catching the breath! in mines why
Nobody struck such eager wealth.
Oh no glow
Of morose ruby, viperous emerald
Here: here’s candor and flush of health.
On this stone,
Look! what an outdoor field-fest thrown!
What a bright lens catching the dancers’ passion,
Brow’s abandon and barefoot stealth.
Horsemen flash on the sundrunk meadow
Nobody drank so mad a sun!
Shoulders bold,
Eyes in rainbow of golden lashes
Laugh as the high-knee horses run.
Slick as coal,
Look! and the skyblue feyfoot foal!
What a hover of hooves like rippling fingers,
Manes that tangle and thunderous fun.
So friskily ferned and folked an ocean
Nobody sour of spirit knows.
Radiant haze
On the prism cliff and the waves that plop with
Lollop of dolphin springy as bows.
Bathers gaze,
Look, where the innocent fishline strays.
What a plunge from the reef as seabirds scatter!
Bodies simple as flowers unclose.
Though their tongue is a wild conundrum,
Nobody had such lucid hands:
Soothe or hoot,
Confer gently with troubled horses,
Reassure like a loving glance,
Nestle fruit,
Look, and dazzle the twosome flutel
What a blur of birds! and the wingtip fingers!
Swallowy palms floating over the dance.
That dance! hips like a whisk of fingers;
Nobody had such Alings of fun,
Flair as there!
No girl swung on a flank of satin,
None in a shiver of sequin spun
As these wear,
Look! pure limbs and halo of hair.
What a splendor of flesh! as if bones were breathing
Slender a fire as the virgin dawn.
Man’s tomb–for the rest what greensick symbols.
Nobody else had lip so live,
Eye so fired.
Others mumble their maybes, pleading
Peacock, phoenix, and yew survive.
Tarchna choired
Look! what the soul itself desired.
What a grumble of skulls and dust from others.
All she sang was Alive oh alive.
Tarchna’s death is a dive in sunlight.
Nobody knows how deep a dive
See that sea!
Flung like sun in a seethe of rainbows
Drenched and laughing the dead arise!
Just to be
Look! in so wild bright brash a sea!
What a thunder of surfl and the great locks tossing.
Still she sang Oh alive and alive.
Tarchna’s dark: in the bronzing twilight
Nobody treks the haunted run.
Broken loam
Scuffing the musk of age and autumn.
Westward, ah the effulgent zone.
Far below
Look! how the carmine harbors glow!
What a thrilling of red like brilliant music,
Like eyelids fast on a rapture of sun.
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