Sol 5.6

  1. The Hour has not come; it has not come.

    In a moment of yearning, she did not come.

  2. The square, bewildered, watches for her,

    and the world beneath me bows its head.

  3. It waits for its queen, gazing out,

    while my sails spread wide in longing.

  4. She neither rose toward me nor appeared;

    nor did the gleam of my surprise dawn.

  5. The skiff of my breaths did not set sail,

    nor did sorrow melt within my veins.

  6. And anguish flared through my senses,

    and grief spread through my tissues.

  7. The Hour has not come; it has not come.

    Then the wound mingled with my soil,

  8. the procession brimmed with whispered confidences,

    and the caravan of time committed suicide.

  9. The Hour has not come; it has not come.

    How many horizons my eye has scanned,

  10. while night kept vigil at my mast.

    The dream shattered in my wakefulness,

  11. and the apparition scattered through my house.

    The pulse stood transfixed within my breast,

  12. and confession burst forth from my silence.

    The horizon stretched itself, astonished,

  13. drawing near your sky, my enchantress.

    You remain lofty upon your throne,

  14. radiant as a star.

    Even the sun—your radiance extinguishes it;

  15. and poetry—your majesty is my muse.

    You are the holiness of my prayer,

  16. my liege—you are my sovereign lady.

    Through praise, its discernment shines,

  17. and before your station, my power fades.

    The Hour has not come; it has not come.

  18. My longing has gone on waiting for

    beauty’s enchantress—my own enchantress.

  19. O queen of all ages,

    you have come late to the promised hour.

  20. O blaze of truth in my homelands,

    O whisper that roars within my voice,

  21. O dream of the sigh at the sight of you,

    O tableau of a love that seeks a ruling from

  22. the history of courage in its blood;

    boiling water upon oil,

  23. amid the street’s fury, if there blows

    the wind of longings through my memory,

  24. or the tender embrace of our shores—

    a store of energy within my lung.

  25. Your bird sang at my door,

    and the moon split apart at my window.

  26. As your beloved, I rise above my rapture;

    slain by you, I live within my death.

  27. ..

    The Hour has not come; it has not come...

    The Hour has not come; it has not come.

Sol 5.6