TO THE NIGHT

The night swarmed out its golden hive on evening orchard blooms

above the tall cathedral spires and artists’ studio rooms

and battlements porphyrical and massive cannons vied

resounding round the courtyards that the moon had petrified

the rattling panes and palace booms heraldic dust of years

shimmered in chapel lattices like sunlight frayed on biers

from arcade windows hundred-fold the dark pianos thralling

and nuns all white in promenade white-flowered vines out-palling

A little bell rang sleepy tolling with incessant beating

and I too blind to see the joys unseen did feel them fleeting

grieving like some somnambulist over the waste of ocean

by lightning rod on rooftop glimpsed in staggered swaying motion

where the rosette at times explodes a dazzling hand grenade

over Venetian gondolas Granada ermine laid

for spattering of heavy oils on radiant window glass

for spattering the immortelles’ mignonette starlight dust

devoid of the chorale of harps devoid of peeling bells

reflected light chalcedony shard like in eyes up-wells

I wandered out into that night alone none close at hand

letting myself be showered by the searing starlight sand

night sang out warmly tropical that knell’s unsparing span

night train of coffins without drums night senseless caravan

Who doused the lights in gardens and the towns’ glow overhead

who lit the ruby wick above the bridal wedding-bed

who made the dog to howl and wail upon the crossroad’s gorse

who did that wild bewilderment and faithless furor cause

who piled the wheat-sheaves top-to-top who did so tragic dream

who filled the moon with blood to make its magic crimson beam

who toppled the black burner took the blue lamp without asking

who sings their miserere past the black drop-curtain’s masking

Oh it is you my night untrue disconsolate unfeeling

my embalmed lover redolent of scented fruit appealing

you bloodied moth of dusky skies you shadow rival-killed

you cadaver by lunar light flank laceration spilled

your hasheesh coloured papillae though prophets’ visions straining

your voice by echo torn up-welled before its far-off waning

you lute of death so shimmering in humid orchestration

you are my cradle sister at the fates’ own dedication

My sleep like wench hysterical veers on its rooftop mission

the bell tolls on a theme for a Beethoven composition

my silent vigil fainting like a woman love-borne gushing

ah falling into sleep yet in gold halter forward rushing

into the carmine prairie distant lands of Lotus-phages

into the coral gardens front of house of stage-lit mages

The night swarmed out its golden hive on evening orchard blooms

above the tall cathedral spires and artists’ studio rooms

the stars in fever tropical rang out the death-knell’s span

night train of coffins without drums night senseless caravan