Swan Dream

A gentle impulse moves my hand to write.
 Purple, dark, deep light hovers over me,
Like fruit, luscious grapes.  I reach for their height.
 Who dares believe what from me they will see?
Toads, begone!  Despised is such croaking glee.
 Darling, lover, come near me, selflessly right,
Sing with holy pleasure, clothe me in light.
 In God is our rapture, in Him set free.
Honored for all of her graces of song,
 Holy Mother, unto you we belong.

No nightingale could my heart ever tune,
 Though I hope to hear her come where I go.
Other minstrels all, your words were my boon.
 Why I now here have been chosen to show
The spring-pond by God’s grace, I do not know.
 But I know, yes, I write with judgment soon.
On prayer’s wing He led me over each dune
 Far to a fount where poesy waters flow.
No changeless youth do these waters promise,
 Yet they hold yearnings of our immortal bliss.

Then, I passed through meditation’s portal
 Again to the swan, again to her spring,
(Mercy, I trust, from heaven’s tribunal)
 With all the heart-aching hopes I could bring.
Such hopes, so stricken with death, could I sing?
 No wonder – there the beauty diurnal
Is richly cast with evening nocturnal.
 In sight of the swan, death's hope came sighing.
Tune your harps, blessed angels, through death’s veil
 Upon a light, mounting, eternal scale.

The sunlight streamed low, like a jeweled pave,
 Reflecting around the white swan treasure.
I thought lovely might be a watery grave.
 Always with her I had vision’s pleasure.
Serenely she swam, with such subtle cure
 My spirit arose, while the sunset gave
Her a rose blush – what purest hue could save?
 So close she was, loving me, I felt sure.
I stretched forth my hand and stroked her white down.
 How tender her rosy, velvety gown.

 
The swan spoke then in language of people,
 “You have come to your holy sung purlieu,”
While leaving darkening waters ripple.
 She gently in metamorphosis grew,
Beauty shaping features as visaged woo,
 With evening star’s ecstasy touched purple,
She, like music in monks’ vespers steeple,
 Damascening in violet-waved hue.
“Loved poet, fragrance of death incenses
 These verses’ still murmuring essences.”

Taking my hand she led me to follow
 Unto a path by the water’s wayside.
Not far was far she would to me allow.
 There with spring-pond through leaves dimly espied,
There with passing evening dying, to hide,
 In her eyes I gazed up, care on my brow:
She, bending her graceful form to endow
 My thoughts and passion unwilling to bide.
She spoke then of love and no words I missed.
 Within the moonlight’s bright rising, we kissed.
 
“Poet, unlace all your wavering dreams.”
 With her brown hair on my shoulder she smiled.
“Love is eternal, He deathlessly deems.”
 Her words for a moment through me trialed.
I loosened my doubt, wisely beguiled.
 “In God’s favor, trusting couples’ joy gleams.
Their grateful prayers rise as brightest sunbeams.”
 I felt supple swell with yearnings far-wiled.
Pleasant the memory, foolish to share,
 After our passion, knelt we in breathless prayer.

“Holy Mother, through you, by you aligned–”
 The orbed moon’s light shimmered on us, past trees.
“We offer our prayers to Him who can bind.”
 With our invocation each of us sees
Two downy white feathers close by our knees.
“Yes, wed I him to his dark world willed-blind;
Unto the Trinity, I vow in kind.”
 Thus she spoke as I raised last nuptial pleas.
Then, without urge, in wonder we embraced
 For back to the pond our steps need be traced.

“Amethyst girl,” I whispered to myself.
 Had she heard my words while dressing with joy?
I pulled on a blue shirt in passing stealth.
 Her dress, pink with deep violet alloy,
Deep hued in the night, no moonlight could cloy.
 Any last sight of her seemed my mind’s health.
Those moments near to me she kept herself.
 Dressed gracefully, she whispered, “Sapphire boy.”
Gems in the skies were like gems in her eyes,
 Promising me rapture, patient and wise.

Again at the pond, our arms held around,
 We kissed, but strange – then – each lip vanishes.
A “no!” choked inside me, tearful, unsound.
 Her neck, demur, with nestling, white wishes,
Fluttered not she her hidden anguishes.
 O swan, to you my heart is ever bound:
What other so graceful dream can be found?
 On the stream she left murmuring swishes.
Swim I dared not in the dark waters deep.
Then!  I rushed through reeds knowing what to keep.

Were my feet winged?  I ran, flew, delighted,
 Yet turned and returned to see my loved one.
Naught on the path my fleetness indicted,
 Naught but her grace, moonlit water’s own sun.
Often I gazed at her, then ran undone!
 Time, nagging time, I hurriedly slighted.
Then tired, hope blessed, my dream’s keep I sighted:
 White wedding gifts from the high Holy One.
On my knees I sang with my eyes to star gold –
 Sylvan wind blew – half the gift He would hold!

When out of my hands flew one of the quills,
 Clasping there I looked into the forest:
Hopeless ... yet one!  Even now my heart thrills.
 Then sleep’s sweet slumber allured me to rest:
I lay down my head on the humblest nest.
 A dream’s reality Holy Ghost wills:
In my mind, then and now, a white swan fills.
 My thought’s hopes are white and amethyst dressed.
On a pillow, do you wonder whether
 I woke?  Yes – and I write with a feather.