Friday, March 16, 2007

Latin Passions

Among the wealth of rare and splendid things at The Sarabite, this jewel glitters especially brightly:


You are the sonnet
That the morning utters:

Silent, singing,
The incessant rustling
Of birds in the branches.

You are the song
That lifts up my feet,
Period of longing,
Period of sighs-
Sweet blade that
Plunges into memory
And cuts away all
That bends in sorrow.

You are the hue of
The sky in spring-
The light that glides off
The streams that
Gallop over stones.

You are the muse,
The recitation,
The singer,
And the tear-

All of this you consume
In your gentle eye-

And I fade away,
Lost and lifted up
In morning's prize.

Arturo Vásquez

Meanwhile, at The Muniment Room, TTony reflects on his missed Spanish wedding.

The parish church of St Eloi, Andernos, on the Arcachon Bassin, where Mademoiselle became Mrs Moretben according to the traditional rites of the Roman Church. In the foreground are the ruins of an earlier Gallo-Roman basilica.


crusader88 said...

How effective is this work! Although of worn material, it is still quite beautiful, the kind of thing fit for reading to a worthy love.

Pseudo-Iamblichus said...

The beauty of the woman I wrote this poem for blots it out like the radiance of the sun makes the stars disappear in the sky.

Thanks for the compliment, though.