by Roderick Speller
Ah, the mystic glory of a rose,
what lies within, who knows, who knows?
What secrets do thy mute lips hold —
O royal flower, unfold, unfold,
thy mysteries to this seeking soul.
Replenish now the empty bowl
that Time has ravaged on its way,
from Age to Age and day to day.
Once filled with seed, yet now bereft,
for the winds have scattered, and what is left?
Mere empty husks, without that germ
Divine, whereby a man can sperm
the world with radiant life,
no longer held to drug and knife.
Come, speak low, and tell to me
what link there is ‘twixt thee and me;
What magic spell the lets you bind
my heart, my soul, my very mind.
Come, let me blend with thy desire,
and touch thy inner depths of fire.
O show to me just what thou art,
what secret burns within thy heart.
I cannot sleep, I know no peace,
until thou bring to me release.
O break this chain that grips me tight,
that holds me to the dark of night!
But wait, what whispers in my ear,
what golden voice is this I hear?
You speak, and ’tis the singing of the spheres,
that burst into a thousand tears
which drop onto my brow below;
My mind awakes, I see, I know!
And sweet thy voice re-echoes from above,
“O Man, my mystery is LOVE.”