Today's poem brings this short series to an end

My other poetry blogs are continuing with a poem added every day
The Thomas Hardy Poetry Collection
and
My Poetry Digest

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Resignation

As a child, I dreamt of the Koh-i-Noor,
Persian and Papal richness, sumptuous,
Heliogabalus, Sardanapalus!
My desire conjured, where the gold roofs soar,

To music’s strains, where fragrances entice,
Endless harems, bodily paradise!
Calmer these days and yet no less ardent,
Knowing life, how one’s obliged to be,

I’m forced to curb such lovely folly,
And yet not yield to too great an extent.
So be it, if greatness eludes intent,

Yet down with the nice, and the ordinary!
I always hated a woman merely pretty,
Rhyme that’s assonant, the friend who’s prudent!

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Let's Dance a Jig

Let’s dance a jig!

I loved, above all, her pretty eyes

Brighter than stars in the skies,

I loved her malicious eyes likewise.

Let’s dance a jig!

She for sure, she knew the art

Of breaking a poor lover’s heart,

How charmingly she played the part.

Let’s dance a jig!

But I find it even better

That kiss of her mouth in flower

Now, in my heart, she’s a dead letter.

Let’s dance a jig!

I recall, oh I recall

The hours, the words we let fall,

And this the very best of all.

Let’s dance a jig!

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A Poor Young Shepherd

I’m afraid of a kiss

Like the kiss of a bee.

I suffer like this

And wake endlessly.

I’m afraid of a kiss!

Yet I love Kate

And her sweet gaze.

She’s delicate

With a long pale face.

Oh! How I love Kate!

It’s Saint Valentine’s Day!

I must, I don’t dare

Tomorrow, they say…

It’s a dreadful affair

Is Saint Valentine’s Day!

She’s promised to me,

Fortuitously!

But the difficulty

For a lover, poor he,

With his darling to be!

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Green

Here are the fruits, the flowers, the leaves, the wands,

Here my heart that beats only for your sighs.

Shatter them not with your snow-white hands,

Let my poor gifts be pleasing to your eyes.

I come to you, still covered with dew, you see,

Dew that the dawn wind froze here on my face.

Let my weariness lie down at your feet,

And dream of the dear moments that shed grace.

Let my head loll here on your young breast

Still ringing with your last kisses blessed,

Allow this departure of the great tempest,

And let me sleep now, a little, while you rest.

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Is it not so?

Is it not so? Despite the fools, the malevolent

Those who’ll never fail to envy our happiness,

We will sometimes be proud and forever indulgent.

Is it not so? We’ll go, gaily, slowly, on the modest

Road that reveals to us Hope smiling,

Whether we’re seen or ignored, ever careless.

Enclosed by love as in a dark wood, exhaling

Our two hearts, their peaceful tenderness,

Will be two nightingales in the dusk singing.

As for the World, let it be angered by us,

Or tender, what can its gestures signify?

Let it make us a target, or let it caress us.

Bound by the strongest and dearest tie,

And more, possessing adamantine armour,

We’ll smile and fear nothing that meets the eye.

Un-preoccupied with whatever Fate destines for

Us, marching onwards and in step we’ll go,

Hand in hand, with the childlike souls, what’s more,

Of those whose love is untainted, is it not so?

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The Piano Kissed . . .

"Joyous notes, a sounding harpsichord’s intrusion."

Pétrus Borel

The piano kissed by a delicate hand

Gleams distantly in rose-grey evening

While with a wingtips’ weightless sound

A fine old tune, so fragile, charming

Roams discreetly, almost trembling,

Through the chamber She’s long perfumed.

What is this sudden cradle song

That gradually lulls my poor being?

What do you want of me, playful one?

What do you wish, slight vague burden

Drifting now, dying, towards the window

Opening a little on a patch of garden?

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Sentimental Conversation

In the lonely old park’s frozen glass

Two dark shadows lately passed.

Their lips were slack, eyes were blurred,

The words they spoke scarcely heard.

In the lonely old park’s frozen glass

Two spectral forms invoked the past.

‘Do you recall our former ecstasies?’

‘Why would you have me rake up memories?’

‘Does your heart still beat at my name alone?’

‘Is it always my soul you see in dream?’ – ‘Ah, no’.

‘Oh the lovely days of unspeakable mystery,

When our mouths met!’ – ‘Ah yes, maybe.’

‘How blue it was, the sky, how high our hopes!’

‘Hope fled, conquered, along the dark slopes.’

So they walked there, among the wild herbs,

And the night alone listened to their words.

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