REPENTANCE
YESTERDAY, when in slumber light and chill,Drenched in cold sweats, upon my couch I lay,While on my panting cheeks two roses burnedAnd on my brow sat mortal pallor gray,—
Then on my soul, athirst for love, there fellMy mother’s sobs, who wept beside my bed.When I unclosed my dim and weary eyes,I saw her tears of pity o’er me shed.
I felt upon my face my mother’s kiss,A sacred last remembrance, on death’s shore ;All her great sorrow in that kiss was breathed —And it was I who caused her anguish sore !
Ah, then a tempest rose and shook my soul,A storm of bitter grief, that blasts and sears ;Then I poured forth that torrent dark. My God,Forgive me ! I had seen my mother’s tears.
Title Repentance
By Bedros Duryan
Showing posts with label mystics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystics. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
MY TEARS.
I WAS alone with my pure-winged dream in the valleys my sires had trod;My steps were light as the fair gazelle’s, and my heart with joy was thrilled;I ran, all drunk with the deep blue sky, with the light of the glorious days;Mine eyes were filled with gold and hopes, my soul with the gods was filled.
Basket on basket, the Summer rich presented her fruit to meFrom my garden’s trees—each kind of fruit that to our clime belongs;And then from a willow’s body slim, melodious, beautiful,A branch for my magic flute I cut in silence, to make my songs.
I sang; and the brook all diamond bright, and the birds of my ancient home,And the music pure from heavenly wells that fills the nights and days,And the gentle breezes and airs of dawn, like my sister’s soft embrace,United their voices sweet with mine, and joined in my joyous lays.
To-night in a dream, sweet flute, once more I took you in my hand;You felt to my lips like a kiss—a kiss from the days of long ago.But when those memories old revived, then straightway failed my breath,And instead of songs, my tears began drop after drop to flow.
Siamanto
I WAS alone with my pure-winged dream in the valleys my sires had trod;My steps were light as the fair gazelle’s, and my heart with joy was thrilled;I ran, all drunk with the deep blue sky, with the light of the glorious days;Mine eyes were filled with gold and hopes, my soul with the gods was filled.
Basket on basket, the Summer rich presented her fruit to meFrom my garden’s trees—each kind of fruit that to our clime belongs;And then from a willow’s body slim, melodious, beautiful,A branch for my magic flute I cut in silence, to make my songs.
I sang; and the brook all diamond bright, and the birds of my ancient home,And the music pure from heavenly wells that fills the nights and days,And the gentle breezes and airs of dawn, like my sister’s soft embrace,United their voices sweet with mine, and joined in my joyous lays.
To-night in a dream, sweet flute, once more I took you in my hand;You felt to my lips like a kiss—a kiss from the days of long ago.But when those memories old revived, then straightway failed my breath,And instead of songs, my tears began drop after drop to flow.
Siamanto
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