The Lost Day

at the world’s rim

in the primal, vanished light

a hesperidean grove lies

here the fragrant, airy space

recommends itself

in all its languid, eastern deliciousness

the days are warm, long and clear

the nights coy and serene

a cobweb of allusions and allegories

and sighing sunkist canopies

lies upon this dancing veil

as if woven through and through with gold thread

in the strange expansion of all things infinite

men are drunk on oblique shadows

and inflamed by an orchestra eternal

whose distant echoes can be heard along the river oblivion

the current

and counter-current

like a sea of a thousand tiny amber lights

floats in a sly

insidious shape

between the hill’s clefts

and rises like a vapor

curving and eddying

through the celestial, aerial calm

the pearly light

and luminous pallor of the dream flowers

with shoots of brightness running through its masses

sets off phosphorescent sparks

that can be seen shifting through the celandine

serpentined around them

in the tenebrosity of shade

and the garden of beauty

is the baronial throne

furnished with consecrated sacraments

and depraved delights

half-opened lips warm with rich perfume

and refreshing darkness

an invisible hand draws heavy draperies upon the depths of the air

and deep divans luxurious lie below

the mad opaline moon rises swiftly into space

the abyss sublime

the dream nocturnal

the mystic chains of angels and devils

crown the heavy tresses of those

in this sacred room

and lair infernal



People also view

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *