changes everything except something within us which is always surprised by
we each must go
into the vast solitude of the vast night,
filling our hands
with glistening daffodils, golden stars
and the virgin lily of the moon.
our fine eloquence
my Friend, steals
all its sweetness from the softness of music
and all its knowledge
from the subtlety of dialectic.
our relish in repeating solemn words,
our rivers of rhyme,
the clarity of our homoteleuton,
our assonances like the coming of spring,
our epanalepsis, our epizeuxis.
that's only music, my Friend,
a fiery melody that lifts
our souls, our hearts, our flesh
to the sublime heights
of sublime Harmony.
move into the darkness
in pursuit of the quivering mauve air
and the whims of blue emotions,
heralded by the fervent flames
of poplars, our light bearers.
are we going?
What shyly murmuring water
summons our silent steps?
seduces the roses of our mouths,
the peonies of our spirits,
borne by a peaceful sea,
nudged by a gentle breeze?
are we still looking for,
we who know that God alone
can fill the infinite chasm
of our destitution?
the faithful disciples of the immortal Word,
the attentive children
of Connos, son of Metribios,
and of Lampros, the limpid master
of immortal song!
translated from the French of Athanase Vantchev de Thracy