La Nue

A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

Oft when sweet music undulated round,

Like the full moon out of a perfumed sea

Thine image from the waves of blissful sound

Rose and thy sudden light illumined me.

And in the country, leaf and flower and air

Would alter and the eternal shape emerge;

Because they spoke of thee the fields seemed fair,

And Joy to wait at the horizon’s verge.

The little cloud-gaps in the east that filled

Gray afternoons with bits of tenderest blue

Were windows in a palace pearly-silled

That thy voluptuous traits came glimmering through.

And in the city, dominant desire

For which men toil within its prison-bars,

I watched thy white feet moving in the mire

And thy white forehead hid among the stars.

Mystical, feminine, provoking, nude,

Radiant there with rosy arms outspread,

Sum of fulfillment, sovereign attitude,

Sensual with laughing lips and thrown-back head,

Draped in the rainbow on the summer hills,

Hidden in sea-mist down the hot coast-line,

Couched on the clouds that fiery sunset fills,

Blessed, remote, impersonal, divine;

The gold all color and grace are folded o’er,

The warmth all beauty and tenderness embower, —

Thou quiverest at Nature’s perfumed core,

The pistil of a myriad-petalled flower.

Round thee revolves, illimitably wide,

The world’s desire, as stars around their pole.

Round thee all earthly loveliness beside

Is but the radiate, infinite aureole.

Thou art the poem on the cosmic page —

In rubric written on its golden ground —

That Nature paints her flowers and foliage

And rich-illumined commentary round.

Thou art the rose that the world’s smiles and tears

Hover about like butterflies and bees.

Thou art the theme the music of the spheres

Echoes in endless, variant harmonies.

Thou art the idol in the altar-niche

Faced by Love’s congregated worshippers,

Thou art the holy sacrament round which

The vast cathedral is the universe.

Thou art the secret in the crystal where,

For the last light upon the mystery Man,

In his lone tower and ultimate despair,

Searched the gray-bearded Zoroastrian.

And soft and warm as in the magic sphere,

Deep-orbed as in its erubescent fire,

So in my heart thine image would appear,

Curled round with the red flames of my desire.

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Poems in English 

• Aubade by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• A Lover’s Complaint by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• A Fairy Song by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 128: How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 148: O me! what eyes hath love put in my head by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever, longing still by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 145: Those lips that Love’s own hand did make by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 144: Two loves I have, of comfort and despair by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 141: In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 140: Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 13: O, that you were your self! But, love, you are by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 137: Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 136: If thy soul check thee that I come so near by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 135: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 134: So, now I have confessed that he is thine by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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