ECLOGUE [Philip Daniel; 2020]

By PhilipDaniel | Musica Melopoetica | 26 Jul 2020



That vine, imagine, that drooping vine,
As if 'twere a swan's lithe neck,
Or supple wave 'pon flinty shores,
(Which wistful grayish clouds pour on,
Through the mist's pale veil,
Amidst rough gale,
Till coastal strand, deluged, is sated,
And atoll, desolate, inebriated,
And the mist's pale veil
Amidst rough gale
In gradual haste has dissipated,
So no more wail,
Unearthly flail,
Men's ears detect thereon),
O, were that slender vine all yours!
Forget the tow'r, the robust wreck;
Only raise these eyes to nature's twine.

Set now all vision 'gainst those leaves;
Fall's splendid ochre,
Some revoker,
Indeed, of heedless hedonism
Wrought by the Summer's unripe feverism;
Fall's splendid ochre,
Some revoker ...
In mellowness, model stoicism,
Fresh love-stoker,
All, to which Her
Great esteem receives!

Girdling about us, moss softly sits
Verdant, pleasantly silent,
Yet in concert, harmonious,
Polyphony euphonious;
Our wearied senses must relent.
After all, all that's Sublime insists!

Let's you and I ascend yon peak,
Upon which, bedewed
Adorned, bedecked,
Are incandescent fiery stalks,
Wildflowers, Sun's daughters, clothed in finery.
Upon which, bedewed
Adorned, bedecked,
Imprints of sacred trances, hymns airy,
Persist, perfect
Nature's aspect
Glorious, antique.

And thus, us two, we scale upwards
That summit so forbidding,
Resplendently, glacially edged.
That same moss, and like vines, are wedged
For sun, air, and rain outbidding,
As life demands of flora, worms, birds.

The summit, won! Yon Horizon,
Twilight, resounds,
The Moon it crowns.
Her Majesty takes captive all
Of Mankind by prismatic rays of glamour.
Twilight, resounds,
The Moon it crowns,
Kaleidoscopic, to snare, enamor.
Lesser death's gowns
Thence grasp the towns.
Time moves to wizen.

Hark back unto that dangling vine, deep
In her most lonesome rapture
And behold, as in the morrow
We descend, return to rustic
Life and sorrow, none
Are quite as one
As I and you; I, the commonplace
Tower; You, that wondrous Vine, leaves strewn with grace.
Through life's sorrow, none
Are quite as one,
For we have dissolved into Ether, Space;
Reborn, begun,
Never undone.
Ardor idealistic
In our resurrected souls flow,
Let it neither thaw nor fracture,
Till Vine, Tow'r crumble: the flame will keep!

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I am a young composer working in a highly personal Late Romantic idiom.

Musica Melopoetica
Musica Melopoetica

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