Sic Luceat Lux
Too long in love with easeful darkness,
Replete with sorrow, filled to the seam.
Plucked from its depths to bask in light's caress,
As if slipping supinely into a dream.
Poured forth from my lips my soul as sultry prose,
From a heart as heavy as weathered stone.
Words softly whispered, cadences a hundredfold,
From naught but love, and flesh, and bone.
The warming amber of dusk's feathered gold
Smouldered above a vast ocean of deep blue and green.
Like a painting of heaven from rich days of old.
Like a vision no mortal should ever have seen.
The endless sky surrendered from dusk to twilight
In a cooling myriad of warm vivid hues.
To a somber cobalt from midsummer white,
Like an abdication from a playful muse.
With night, the indigo-ink of midnight true
Bled onto a darkened canvas of coastline, hewn
By reed-scattered sand dunes bathed in blue
From a full and lustrous summer's moon.
Where I yearned to embrace her in eventide mirth,
And lose oneself forever and an age,
In her endless eyes not of this earth,
Like an angel of grace set free from its cage.
Soft of thigh and moist of lip,
In passion, swollen bosom heaved.
From her tender kiss I longed to sip
A stirring potion of sweet reprieve.
Sweeter than droplets of elderflower dew
And softer than snowflakes that fall in mid-spring,
I fell and sank into her embrace anew,
Not a word to say, nor a song to sing.
The fresh incense of honeyed peach and pear
Lingered upon the midnight breeze,
Where enraptured, I relished the essence fair
Of two souls embalmed in shadow's tease.
The culmination of passion's release
So desperately longed for, set me free.
Plucked my lifeless body from the earth
And helped it grow from seed to tree.
From the darkest places cursed to wander,
Fathomless and immeasurably deep,
My heartache grief now cast asunder.
All the joyous pleasures were ours to reap.
On cool soft sands I held my prize,
Under a canopy of countless stars from afar.
A million sparkles danced in her eyes
With all the lustre and beauty of a falling star.
So tender the night which bathed her from on high,
A full moon of majesty and her starry court.
Granted by heaven, and with a gentle breeze sighed
A soft caress of love import.
Author's Note: The translation of the Latin title is, 'Thus let the light shine'.
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Comments about this poem (Sic Luceat Lux by Elizabeth Jones )
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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