Well Said Sundays, A Quote to Note IV (This week, a poem)

IN THE BEGINNING

Now, in our perfect hour,

While the green stem supports the weightless flower,

Before the rains, before the blurring mist,
Disturb the globe of silence where we kissed,
Let us be calm and tranquil in its power.

There may be love
As daily and enduring as a glove:
This may be granted when perfection fades,
But never the silken magic that pervades
This first fine tapestry our fingers wove.

Your beauty lifts my heart
To a dimension where time has no part.
It must come down, I know: we take our places
Among the normal names and normal faces:
But not in these first hours, not from the start.

This equilibrium,
Most rare and perilous balance, leaves me dumb
To say it all, to name the gems and metals
(flame of a butterfly before it settles)
before the troubles and the questionings come.

Before our ship is tested,
Before we sail where seas are cold and crested,
For this one hour let lust be pure as laughter:
Let our love breathe without before and after,
Soft as the hollow where a bird has rested.

John Wain