BEAUTY VIII

I dreamt a dream of Beauty's fane,

of sublimity beyond

birth and ascension, of a brightness

that transcends faith and hope,

of timeless Grace

that is a law unto itself.

My spirit traced Her path through a

substanceless shimmer,

as a peasant's eye the lark's song

across Dawn's brow,

calling to Her ethereal silvery gold,

as a smothered leaf

bereft of reviving Summer showers

to the nightingale, 

whose liquid strains alone could

drench its parched throat.

Upon the threshold of Her cosmic

sanctum I stood,

regarding the pinnacle of Eternity's 

design with a child's 

pure, wondering gaze that binds

dewdrops to the stars.

Infant souls embraced before Her

altar of aery alabaster, 

beneath Polaris' hallowed light,

His glow, Her temple dome,

His orb, its blazing oculus.

What oblation could I lay at the feet

of Time's own daughter,

of Nature's second soul?

- Naught had I, but tears of rapture

and my mortal devotion. 

An invocation for Life I cast into the

stream of prayers that moats

Her Universal shrine.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: ERATO, MUSE OF POETRY

Source: blog.daum.net

Artist: Sir Edward John Poynter