A Doll ... and a Statue

— My love ... come with me ...

Upon the everlasting rocks

we will build our blue dreams ...

And on the edges of the knolls

we will confide our eternal secret ...

And beneath the shadows of the forest

we will sow the earth with love and fruitfulness ...

Come with me ... and be at ease ...

— But the cold is bitter ...

and there is no shelter there ...

— Here I have built you a temple, my love,

inside this warm, trusty shrine.

Come .. open its door with your hands ...

and let it be done gently ..

Do not throw it wide open ...

Open it just a crack ...

and enter quickly ..

for the cold is biting .. and I fear it

may steal inside

and poison it ... and paralyze it, and the warmth will be lost,

and the perfume —

the perfume will be lost .. and I gathered it for you

drop ... by drop ...

from the virgin lilies ...

and from every maiden rose ...

— And the desolate stillness and the awful silence?

— From the pillars of the shrine I made you strings

that pour out poetry as a joyous melody

and fashion the tune into a wondrous magic ...

— Does no sun rise upon our shrine? Does no

star watch over it?

— The sun may set, my love,

and the stars may grow old ..

but love in our shrine grows not old, nor

does it set ...

•

And my beloved's veins were oozing desire ..

and his eyes striking sparks of flame ..

as he entered the door of the shrine ...

— How marvelous this shrine, and how mighty

its magic!!

It has refreshed my breast with its perfumes ...

and warmed my heart with its love and its tenderness,

and made my soul drunk with its song and its melodies ..

But ...

•

So I clutched my breast, locking its doors

and making fast its corners, until morning rose — and behold,

the shrine ...

no rose in it ... and no garden ...

no melody in it ... and no perfume ...

no warmth in it ... and no beloved ...

All that was in the shrine .. in one of

its far corners ..

was a candle shuddering .. sending out its last

death-rattle ..

And then I knew that my beloved had entered the temple

last night, and it had not been a dream.

Jannar

Talk of the Heart — The Golden Ring

... You have given back to my youth, O you, something of the bloom of my youth and its joy; its days and its nights, before it met you, were barrenness and drought.

I pass you by in haste, and your eye greets mine, and it is as though a whole world of scowling desolation is swept from my path — and I open the gate of my heart and fling it back for you!

Is it not strange that this should happen every morning, while you are still a stranger — a stranger to my feelings? You may be wondering about my name, as I wonder about yours! Chary of my secret am I — even from you, even from myself! I clasp it warily, as one clasps what is precious and dear!

I content myself, from you, with the chaste glance, stolen in your moments of inattention; and a sweet flutter revives me, and a liveliness stirs through me... I had almost forgotten the taste of its tremor!

I content myself, from you, with the whispered greeting, and return it in kind; and the ring of your voice runs through my blood... a silent ululation!

•

... At night longing pressed hard upon me, so I turned back to my heart to silence it... to reproach it:

"Cease your beating, heart — shame on you! You have pained me, you have led me astray!! And if some new love is growing between your ribs, then slay it now... before it grows stronger than you..."

"Better for you to cut your strings and strangle it, than to go on with your despairing tune. Do you not see — woe to you — ... the golden ring... on his finger...!!???"

Aphrodite

39