Hymne a l amour

One moonlit night, a vision
    came to me in dream -
A muse of tender silver light
    and godly grace;
Her whisper through immortal veil,
    a ghostly gleam.
Then awestruck, I fell down
    and begged to see her face.

«What name is yours?» —
    I asked of her in disbelief.
«No title known to human race
    would suit, I fear.
For what I am, your earthly mind
    could not conceive.
And name of mine, dear poet,
    changes year to year.

I am the voice that sings
    when mortal hearts ignite.
I sang beside La Mome the Hymne,
    before her fame.
I stood as Hadrian wept
    through sorrowfull night,
And taught him how to carve
    Antinous’ face through pain.

I am the blessing to your kind
    and surest curse,
I watch empires fall, then lift them
    from their ashes.
I breathe desire in you,
    for better or for worse,
And weave your dream that finally
    burns and crashes.

Do not retreat, my poet,
    I mean you no harm.
Let trembling ink bring forth
    the words out of your soul.
The one who flees the storm
    that stirs beneath his calm,
Lives like a dying flame,
    too weak to burn its coal.”