The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

heart of mine 

 The Girl from Spoleto
Alexander Block

Slender are you as a candle. Your eyes are
Swords that pierce mine. No, my sweet, you mistaken:
I do not long for a tryst and its wonders -
Just let me burn like a monk at the stake!

Your love? Oh, no!- I don't seek it. Nor dare I
Offer unwanted caresses. Apart
From you I stand like a painter and watch you -
Watch you, and love you with all of my heart!

Goaded by wind, burnt by sun - ah, Maria,
Ever in flight, something not to be gained...
Let me but see the winged cherub above you,
Let me but taste of love's exquisite pain!

Into your dark, silken tresses the brilliants
Of secret verses in silence I twine;
Into your eyes, pools of luminous darkness,
Greedily cast this enslaved heart of mine!

1909
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