THE COMMISSION

Her ample solitude 
no trespasser profane;
no artifice infringe
the glory of Her sun.

An ocean of gray doves
burns in Her opened eyes,
whose wisdom's word compels
the science of the breeze.

Wherefore, this slender hand
shall track the thieving night,
fetter absconding death,
pillage the hunter's spoils;

Commissioned to retrieve
lost pledge of timeworn love.

-by Wayward Disciple

THE TRIAL

No one would drop her sleep,
No one her dream unveil;
My love would tear her milk,
Unleash her bare desire.

Her smallest breath undone,
Celestial fires uproot;
The running of Spring's sun
Wind down into the earth.

Until this leaf display
The emblem of her peace,
I never rest my soul,

Consider no release;
Request not, nor require,
That which would make me whole.

-by Wayward Disciple

SPRING SONG

Warm breath of grass
augments her breath,

betrays her tender
insolence.

Now hold aloft
the crowning wreath

'til bluebells' siege
shall win her mouth

and lusty Spring
her bright caress.

- by Wayward Disciple

He Beholds the Beloved: Sonnet 4

This is the fourth sonnet in a sequence which begins with "The Faerie Lover". (The painting is by Sir Edward Burne-Jones)

He Beholds the Beloved

A river murm'ring through a wooded vale
Is like your beauty: from a thousand springs
And freshets of pure silver - rill on rill -
Accumulates a flood of glitterings

Which daze the subtle senses. Womanly
In intellect, in warmth, in form, in voice,
In motion, in repose - essentially -
You flow in beauty's streaming, bright embrace;

Yet secretly, as if the breathless trees
In verdure veiled from senses unrefined
Reflection of your liquid loveliness;
The thousand fluid charms in you aligned.

Grant this one favor may to me be shown:
Let me but lean to taste your mouth, and drown.

-by Wayward Disciple

Her Determination: Sonnet 3

This is the third sonnet in a sequence beginning with "The Faerie Lover", and continuing with "The Beloved's Confusion", which can be found among previous posts. The painting is by J.W. Waterhouse.


Her Determination

Were I content to love thee from afar,
I would not wait beneath this linden tree
Night after night, in hopes that I might see
Thee passing 'twixt thy dwelling and thy car.

I will not feed upon my heart's remains,
Peering disconsolate into thy world.
Tools have I gathered, ancient scrolls unfurled
Of power to shake the lintels of the planes!

Thy meadows I behold; ye see not mine,
Their azure lilies surging in the wind.
That will I alter after my design,
Glyphs of enchantment tracing in thy mind.

Drowned in the midnight river of my hair,
Thou shalt behold my beauty and despair.

- by Wayward Disciple

Water Music: Spring

Water Music: Spring

O my dear Friend, today,
on a mild day of clouds
(and under those clouds
the daffodils hung like lamps)
my soul came so close to the surface of the water,
so close to the light,
that I burst into tears
when I heard the sound of the trumpets.

For I remembered the beauty again
which is the life of things, the heart
of them; the Joy that inheres in the very
structure of all that is.
And that sound glided over
and pierced me all at once,
even to the heart.

No one saw my tears, no one observed
my sobbing; no one leaned her kind head
against my breast to share....
was it Joy or Sorrow?

O Friend, every hour I miss your touch,
your radiant warmth, the golden light that
played around you like a kind of laughter.
And I think of you so often, imagine you
by the lake, the breeze in your light dress,
the sinking sun bathing you in all the subtle fires
of evening....O my heart is in that Sun!

There is a well, my Friend, of deep and trembling water.
Just to think of it eases this aching thirst of mine!


-by Wayward Disciple
(Please respect the rights of the author and do not reproduce original poetry without permission.)

The Beloved's Confusion: Sonnet 2

This sonnet is meant to be read as a sequel to "The Faerie Lover", which can be found four posts back. The painting is by Claude Lorraine.
The Beloved's Confusion

What dizzying scent welled round me in the lane
At shadow-time last evening? In a trance
I thought of lilies, blue as ice. Insane
As it may sound, I swear I sensed a glance,

Behind, of one who knew me; felt the warm
Moisture of living breath upon my ear.
Was it in expectation or alarm
I turned so rapidly? No one was there.

I ask, what reason has my heart for pain;
What injury sustained that it should weep?
Why did I lie last sundown in the lane
And watch the stars until I fell asleep?

Cold dew, gray light and birdsong broke my dream:
Blue lilies carried down a roaring stream.

-by Wayward Disciple

The Faerie Lover: Sonnet 1

I was inspired by Lily la Sorciere's determination to write a century of sonnets. With trepidation, I offer this first installment. Only ninety-nine to go!


The Faerie Lover

I am thy friend; I haunt thee in the light
That flows between the worlds, in which I dwell:
Hear my voice calling in the rush and swell
Of wind about thy casement in the night.

Feel my hand touch thee in the brush of dew
Young Robin scattered from yon cherry spray;
Or breathe my body's scent when reapers mow
In row on golden row the sun-warmed hay.

Taste my dark mouth like roses steeped in wine,
My throat like marble quarried from the moon;
And slow, O slowly kiss! For all too soon
I shall dissolve into the dazzling shine

Of sunlight on the river's molten stream….
And thou shalt reckon I was but a dream.

- by Wayward Disciple
(please respect the author's rights and do not reproduce original poetry without permission. Illustration by Arthur Rackham.)