Beauty That Won'T Die Poem by gershon hepner

She dwells with beauty that won’t die,
because she is the portal
of inspirations that will multiply
and make them both immortal.
It’s not in Lethe where they twist,
but in each other’s minds like wine
in lips that tenderly are kissed
they linger, while they both entwine,
he with her beauty, while she binds
him to her with his mind that swells
with inspiration that he finds
in hers. There will be no farewells,
because her beauty that’s immortal
while wrapped around his mind won’t dis-
appear, while she remains the portal
nor just of inspiration but of bliss.

Inspired by Keats’s poem Ode to Melancholy:

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

12/12/09