To My Friends
For my dearest friends, Melissa, Jason, Sean, Erin, and Mary. I am nought without you, and you fill my soul with a love that art could never hope to imitate. But for you I have to try, as you deserve no less for the gifts you all have given me in being who you are. Enjoy, and happy Valentine's Day.
Where are those verses strained to sing in praise
Of Love that even Venus finds sublime?
Are poets, scheming long to work their rhyme,
But slaves to Cupid's wild turn of phrase?
The Sisters of the sacred well adore
That laurel crown to place upon one's head,
Who speaks of burning passions long since dead,
Yet mourns the loss of Lycidas no more.
But I forsake that steepled Mount of Nine,
To set my sight atop the higher peak
Of He who made the world within a week,
And ask the grace to bear this task of mine:
To sing of five dear friends whose love runs deep,
Who set my soul ablaze by merest thought
Of how their works within my heart have wrought
A Song of Songs for Solomon to weep.
They are such grace enough to guide my hand,
While stars themselves do fall from up above,
Ashamed to shine by brightness of their love,
And I by this new light write words unplanned.
And you, oh Lord, who makes but easy games
Of Inspiration most men fail to find,
Though reaching high in hopes to know your Mind,
Have given me the knowledge of their names.
More pleasing is their love than spicèd wines,
To whisper these fair names spreads sweet perfume,
A scent to keep the flowers from their bloom,
So Nature envies imitation's lines.
Yet all my art lies empty at their feet,
Whom history's passing pages shall confess
That Damon to his Pythias is less
Than these, my friends, who make this world complete.
Thus at your altar I my incense burn,
In thankfulness for them, your hidden ways,
Through whom your Love has sheltered all my days.
What can I give to make a just return?
So at a loss, I end my praise of five,
Yet passing glances from them end my pain,
While knowing mine to be the greatest gain:
How with one look, they make me come alive.
~~Michael Fancher, 2005
Where are those verses strained to sing in praise
Of Love that even Venus finds sublime?
Are poets, scheming long to work their rhyme,
But slaves to Cupid's wild turn of phrase?
The Sisters of the sacred well adore
That laurel crown to place upon one's head,
Who speaks of burning passions long since dead,
Yet mourns the loss of Lycidas no more.
But I forsake that steepled Mount of Nine,
To set my sight atop the higher peak
Of He who made the world within a week,
And ask the grace to bear this task of mine:
To sing of five dear friends whose love runs deep,
Who set my soul ablaze by merest thought
Of how their works within my heart have wrought
A Song of Songs for Solomon to weep.
They are such grace enough to guide my hand,
While stars themselves do fall from up above,
Ashamed to shine by brightness of their love,
And I by this new light write words unplanned.
And you, oh Lord, who makes but easy games
Of Inspiration most men fail to find,
Though reaching high in hopes to know your Mind,
Have given me the knowledge of their names.
More pleasing is their love than spicèd wines,
To whisper these fair names spreads sweet perfume,
A scent to keep the flowers from their bloom,
So Nature envies imitation's lines.
Yet all my art lies empty at their feet,
Whom history's passing pages shall confess
That Damon to his Pythias is less
Than these, my friends, who make this world complete.
Thus at your altar I my incense burn,
In thankfulness for them, your hidden ways,
Through whom your Love has sheltered all my days.
What can I give to make a just return?
So at a loss, I end my praise of five,
Yet passing glances from them end my pain,
While knowing mine to be the greatest gain:
How with one look, they make me come alive.
~~Michael Fancher, 2005
Labels: Essays and Poetry
posted by Michael | 1:20 AM
1 Comments:
Is that last comment a blog spam? Offering to sell you more education? Yikes. Even our blogs are vulnerable.
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