The light of the star
Wins of the dark earth
And covers the manger
With the rays of mirth.
Into the Alpine Path
so winding, so unknown,
A breeze brings mirth
With aeolian melodies
In whispering pianissimo
thru the leaves of the trees
And transfixes the flows
Of time and beauty of youth
Wantoning freely in ecstasy
Sparkling like new hope.
The dewdrops from the leaves
Of the grass across the meadows
Beneath a winter sun in pale hues
sparkle over the liquid arc of rainbows
reflected on the crystal windows
of her palace like ropes of diamonds.
The sun drives his golden chariot
Into the west of the mountain
Carrying the day’s memories
Over to the end of the misty horizon
As she watches the declination
Sitting on the top of the hill alone.
It glows in undreamed wonder
With felicity, ire, in camphor
Like condensed great passion
Full of pathos, ambient, amain
Wrapt in sweet music creeping
Upon the frozen waters lulling
Both its fury and her despair
Carrying them away to the Lethe.
He was Man of Infinite Varieties
In the Craft of Words with Masques:
A High Priest of Poetry of Delphi,
A Prefect of the Ancient Knowledge,
A Thespian of Comedy and Tragedy,
A Hercules whose Might was Pen,
An Odysseus in Search of Truth,
A Pretorian of Classical Precepts
With the elevated Heart of Passion
And the exalted satisfaction of Reason
Whose Brilliance of Star Outlasts
The Celebrity of Instant Comets.
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