A fire brimming in the wilderness
Glowing warm and inviting, white marble
Walls formed by forgotten crafts and towers
Conversing with insurgent suns unknown,
Only exceeding their strength are their height
Overlapping bands in rings of delight
Mightily adventurous in their prime
Bridging the foothold between earth and sky.
Parapets staunchly displayed in weaving
Squares, lining perimeters, and seeding
Themselves through the paths of live mountain stone,
Invading junipers and marigolds
Cloning new buds of imagination
In rife gardens of growth and gestation,
Where honor and valor are interknit
like the ivy that encompasses it,
Strengthened by many intertwining stems
Steadfast, viridescent as emeralds.
Spires imbued with cross knit tracery,
Pointing, peering into lamp filled skies,
Whimsical, floating aft of clouds serene
Attaching stubbornly to the sunlit beams.
Mosaics scamper above marquee floors
Meeting the eye through creaking thick hinged doors
Occidental dances most rarely seen
Within each other's arms as if in dream.
I stand level with living things below
Where the basest instrumentation's call
Shrill notes resounding, cradling me back
With the future coalescing with the past,
In this present, thoughts and joy cannot die
Trapped within the folds of eternity.
Beneath this pale moonlight luxury waits
For what is lesser, simpler to my taste.
There the castle vaults the earthy sill
Embowered in twilight's climactic still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If Lord Byron was a captain on a privateer...
I think in his youth he was a little of both. Too bad he died so young, what he could have contributed as he aged and matured.