Nocturne
When the lithe moonlight silently
Leaped like a satyr to the grass,
Filling the night with nakedness,
All silently I loved my love
In gardens of white ivory.
Three fragrant trees which guard the gates,
Three perfume-trees which sweeten nights,
Rise upon heaven, full of stars
And dripping with white radiance.
Her body is more white than trees.
Five founts of Bacchus, honey-cold,
Five showers making drunk the lawns,
Spout up a dark delicious rain
Filling the earth with sleep and tears.
Her tresses are more sweet than wine.
Seven flowers which breathe divinity,
Seven wondering blossoms of embrace,
Open their glory to the moon,
Kissing white immortality.
Her mouth is chaster than a flower.
When the fleet moonlight silently
Fled like a white nymph down the grass,
Leaving the night to loneliness,
All songfully I loved my love
In gardens of white ivory.
The strings are silver to my harp,
And all the frame is ebony
I think the moon is blossoming—
My hungry fingers bite the strings—
My harp becomes a flower, and blooms.
The strings are golden to my harp,
And all the frame is as a rose.
I think the moon is quivering—
My longing fingers search the chords—
My harp becomes a heart, and breaks.
When the first day-beam silently
Broke like an arrow from the east,
Quivering unto the heights of dawn,
All silently I left my love
In gardens of white ivory.
There are three trees which stand like dreams
Before the gates of ivory;
The moon has withered in the west—
My harp has withered—Hail the day!
(Wherefore this dagger at my thighs.)
There are five founts which play like sleep
Upon the gates of ivory;
The moon is songless in the west—
My harp is songless—Hail the day!
(Wherefore this dagger at my hands.)
There are seven flowers which smile like death
Within the gates of ivory;
The moon is broken in the west—
My harp is broken—Hail the day!
(Wherefore this dagger at my heart.)
E. E. Cummings
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| Photo by Faye Yerbury |
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