Journey's End

 

The star of love

over Steeple Rock

is cloaked in clouds of night.

It laughed, once, from heaven

on the lad grieving

deep in the dark valley.

 

I know where all hope —

where my whole world —

flames with the fire of God.

I throw off the chains

of thought, I fling

myself into your soul.

 

I sink myself,

see into your being,

live your very life;

each gracious moment

that God loves you

blooms in my burning heart.

 

Alone together

we gathered flowers

high on the heath at dawn.

I wove you wreaths,

reverently laying

loving gifts in your lap.

 

You heaped my forehead

with fragrant rings

of bright blue flowers,

one, then another;

you nodded and smiled

and swiftly snatched them away.

 

We laughed in the highlands

while heaven grew clear,

bright at the mountain brim.

Not a single joy

seemed to exist

apart from living our life.1

 

The wise flower-elves

wept in the hollows,

they knew we would need to part.

We thought it was drops

of dew, and kissed

cold tears from the crossgrass.

 

I held you on horseback

in the hurtling stream

and felt with fond assurance

I could lift and carry

so light a flower

overall the leagues of life.

 

Beside the bank

of Boar River

I carefully combed your hair;

eye stars flash,

flower lips smile,

cheeks turn ruby red.

 

He is far from your fair

friendship, the lad

deep in the dark valley.

The star of love

over Steeple Rock

is burning back of clouds.

 

The heavens part

the high planets,

blade parts back and edge;

not even

eternity can part

souls that are sealed in love