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 

• Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 6: Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 67: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 64: When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 63: Against my love shall be, as I am now by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 61: Is it thy will thy image should keep open by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 5: Those hours, that with gentle work did frame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 58: That god forbid, that made me first your slave by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 56: Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 95: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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