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.”


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