And he took the wood for the holocaust,
And laid it upon Isaac his son
and he himself carried in his hands fire and a sword.
Hyacinthos, loved by god, by god slain,
Your fatal bruise tattoos your blushing hue.
Ai! Ai! fell the tears of light the god-sun
Cried in lyric grief – inscribed upon you.
Image of grief, divine yet human,
Nearly touching beauty with death, this true
Test of trust suggests what faith’s own stamen
Has loosed: in pure bloodshed the flower grew.
Hyssop, this bitter blood is your bouquet,
Your bunch of green, your clustered, thirsty green,
Soaks the gall so fathers' sons are spared the stain
Suffused by tinder’s tendered holocaust.
Offended nature's stayed hand at noonday
Perspires your aspersions - too weak to cast.
No comments:
Post a Comment