Sol 5.6

  1. O choicest of beloved friends and intimates,

    forgive me if my powers of expression fail me.

  2. Poetry does not come to my aid in an hour

    that lies beyond all bounds and all thanksgiving.

  3. I am the one who spent his life giving expression,

    interpreting the shy stirrings of the heart;

  4. yet this evening I stand, pen in hand, unequal to the task,

    bewildered—kindness has tied my tongue.

  5. O poetry through which my soul has spoken,

    overflowing as my heart desired;

  6. O solace of my lifetime, O my lyre,

    why do I see you captive within your melodies?

  7. Where is eloquence, and where is all you taught me

    in the days when you ran free, without a rein?

  8. Your whispered converse in grievous times was my sedative;

    upon it, my sleepless sorrows fell asleep.

  9. People ask, while doubts crowd thick:

    How can medicine and poetry accord?

  10. Poetry is the mercy of souls, and their secret,

    a gift of heaven, a bounty from the Judge Divine.

  11. Medicine is the mercy of bodies, and its wellspring

    comes from that sublime, exalted flood.

  12. From the clouds, and from a spring beyond them,

    both find inspiration and draw their fill.

  13. O Love, purifier of hearts

    with cleansing washes for filth and stain,

  14. how grand the exalted communion whenever

    two burning souls sing it together:

  15. purer than this world, though within their bodies lie

    the captive’s humiliation and the jailer’s cruelty.

  16. They gaze toward heaven and take wing;

    they rise to the horizons, ever climbing,

  17. embrace beyond the clouds, and brim

    their two cups with ecstasy and tenderness.

  18. Write for the sake of art; hold nothing equal to it—

    neither life’s riches nor its perishing dross.

  19. Take Mother Nature alone for your inspiration:

    how many subtle meanings nature holds!

  20. Poetry is a kingdom, and you are its prince;

    what need have poets of crowns?

  21. Homer—Time itself made him its prince,

    and generations decreed him sovereign.

  22. Alight upon the flowers and stroke their eyelids;

    pour out your dew for every parched and thirsty soul.

  23. In every grove, a breath of fragrance; and in every gar—

    —den of mine, a bouquet of fragrant basil.

Sol 5.6