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~ Nicimos ~
Roses, O red Roses,
Roses afire, aflame,
O burgeon that
discloses
The glory of desire
___
Hush! all the heart
of fire
Is mingled in Thy
name,
O roses, roses,
roses,
Red roses of desire.
The golden-shafted
sunlight
Beats down upon the
sward;
The pillared
serpent's one light
Is a flame of red
desire;
O snake from out the
mire,
I slay thee with the
sword,
The strong sword of
the sunlight,
The sword of my
desire!
The still strong bird
of sorrow
Keens through the
golden blue,
And many a bitter
morrow
Is borne upon his
wings;
The glory that he
brings
He brings, O King, to
you,
The wonder-song of
sorrow
In the flapping of
his wings.
The flaming day grows
olden
As the youth of glory
wanes;
And the sun-bird
grows more golden
And narrower his
wings;
He swirls around in
rings;
He bears the bloody
stains
Of all the sorrows
olden
Upon his bright gold
wings.
And scarlet-rimmed and splendid,
The wide blue vault
is spanned
With golden rays
wide-bended
From the green earth
to the skies;
The hush of noontide
dies,
Song rises from the
land ___
And scarlet, naked,
splendid,
Glow out the radiant
skies.
A cloud of huge
hushed laughter
Shakes all the
listening boughs,
And a sudden hush
comes after,
Dropped from the
silent skies;
A myriad laughing
eyes
Flash in a still
carouse,
And shake with silent
laughter
The blue vault of the
skies.
A breeze ___ a leaf
___ a shadow ___
The falling of a bud
___
The wind across the
meadow ___
A flash of light ___
a call ___
A patter on the wall
___
The air is bright as
blood;
A moment stands a
shadow,
A moment sounds a
call.
Awake! the spell is
broken,
And hushed the sense
of noon;
What silent word was
spoken
In answer to the
Call?
... Hush!
See the rose-leaves
fall;
Ah! see the pathway
strewn
With tender
rose-leaves, broken
In answer to the
Call.
How still it lies,
the garden,
Now the red flash is
gone;
The brown soil seems
to harden
Now the strange spell
is fled;
And the earth lies
cold and dead,
And the hot hours
hurry on.
It is only a quiet
garden
Now that the spell is
fled.
But the hour, the
hour and the token,
Have passed as a
dream away,
Now that the spell is
broken,
And the moment's
flash is fled.
When the secret word
was said,
Ah! what remained to
say?
No word, but silence'
token
That the golden God
had fled.
And the roses, roses,
roses
Flame in their red
desire,
And every bud
uncloses
To mark the sign that
fled;
The wonder-word hath
sped
To the far Olympian
fire:
The spell of the
crimson roses
Has passed from earth
and fled.
But still the old
silent garden
Remember the golden
flush
When the heavens
seemed to harden
For a moment that
came and fled;
When the whole green
earth grew red
In a breathless spell
and a hush,
And the world grew
young in the garden,
And trembled, and
passed, and fled.
~ VICTOR B.
NEUBURG
A former member of Aleister Crowley's post Golden Dawn
occult order the A.'.A.' ~ Victor Neuberg was also a poet and patron of poets,
most famously as an early publisher of Dylan Thomas. |