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Daniel Whitehead Hicky, love, in English Clear filters

SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Summer Shall Come Again

Summer shall come again, her slender rose Lend its bright ruby to the wind’s blue hand, And over meadows where the clover blows Bronze orchestras of bees awake the land. Small streams shall speak their music to the sun And in the green cathedrals of the trees The robins stare at summer till summer is done And all her splendor ravels to memories. Summer shall come again, and in due time, But in my heart no more her sun will climb Nor any flower unfold its miracle, For she is gone whose laughter was a bell, Whose love made bread and wine of every stone And kindled stars and moons when there were none.
SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Taormina, Revisited

Never come back, you said, to these wild slopes Where the slow wind spends all the almonds’ flowers, And a lone shepherd, climbing wearily, gropes From ledge to ledge, the sheep bells chiming like hours Aging the village below us. Never come back, O never, you said. But I return today, Hearing remembered breakers leap and crack, Drowning the silence with the thunder of spray. Nothing has changed. It is only you and I. Peace rides the cobbled streets; the almond pours Its sun-hot petals beneath the quiet sky— But eyes of lovers carry the light of yours, Their lips your laughter, the songs that we have sung A drift of Time away, when we were young.
InspiredDaniel Whitehead Hicky

How Like the Wind

How like the wind, the seeds of love in man. Though mountains crack and tumble to the sea And all the earth, in war’s finality, Burns in one swift horizon for Time to scan, Through the dark hole where Everest leaves the sky, Over the valleys where stood the Apennines, A lonely seed of roses or of pines Will catch in the wind’s fingers moving by, And so be carried like a trinket there, Clasped from the thieves of lightning and of rain Until some secret hour when there shall rise Out of the sea some continent strange and bare, And on its shores that lift in bright surprise, Roses or pines, like love, shall blossom again.
RomanticDaniel Whitehead Hicky

So Small a Day

The day my eyes found yours was not a day To wear the glittering ink of history’s pen. It was a small day in the annals of men— Bound east by daisies, west by pink and gray Of clover blossoms under the wind’s warm breath, Yet, searching the farthest caverns of man’s mind, In all his written words I shall not find Its shining counterpart this side of death. So small a day, as Time’s swift tidal flows, Yet this I swear: no sun shall ever rise To light the darkened lantern of the rose, Nor fleet of clouds sail down the waking skies, But for that love no history records My tongue shall go impoverished for words.
RomanticDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Hyacinths

You brought me hyacinths when there was no spring, And snow lay like a white prayer on the world. Warm blue they were, the color of seas that sing Small broken songs where sunlit tides are curled With all the passion of a lover’s hands, And I could read deep in your eyes of gray The silent thundering love understands, And all the shining words you could not say. Others have brought me light within their eyes, Others have lain their hands upon mine here, But with your hyacinths there blossomed skies Where no cloud was, and sunlight shimmered clear. Pressed now within a book, these hyacinths hold The love you brought me from the blinding cold.
SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

The Day You Die

The day you die I will not come and say: Poor weary dust, how rested now, at peace, Nor shed a tear upon that bitter day Above the new turned earth granting you release. I will go seeking all you were and find Dark eyes that I remember where larkspurs blow, And, listening, pluck your voice from the warm wind As clearly as a red rose from the snow. Granite can never capture nor hold you fast; Forever at my side your steps shall be, Tracing the paths we knew and loved the best, And searching restless patterns of the sea I will find your face in all the tides that run, Your laughter, defiant, lifting toward the sun.
RomanticDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Wanderer's Return

Not the Aegean running cold with silver Under the summer moon’s bright spell, The warm blue fingers of a Grecian wind Striking wildflowers like a bell, Not the pink clouds that almond trees lift up To envious Italian skies, Nor the swift waking of the slumberous Nile Shaken by ibis and their cries— Not these my eyes shall feast upon again. I have come home; my flags are furled. I am a captive in your heart’s bright harbor Whose shining waters bind my world.
RomanticDaniel Whitehead Hicky

At the Symphony

Hold now my hand in yours as the baton trembles and rises, As it carves the motionless air, releasing a river of notes Rushing headlong across the reaches of darkness, Exploding like flowers of light in our ears, in our throats. Hold my hand closely, as though you were holding the autumn’s first leaf, Warming the cup of your hand with its earliest veins of fire; Let us not whisper our praise, nor turn toward the eyes of each other, But over the ripened meadows of memory and desire Let us run like children again on feet that challenge the wind, Count off the petals of daisies and spread them out in the sun, Single out a blackberry thicket and taste of its wine’s hushed purple,
ContemplativeDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Beauty

No man has set his foot on any land But beauty’s steps have long preceded him, Nor climbed a mountain but her steady hand Has spread a cloud upon its highest rim. There is no burning desert man has taken Seeking the bones of men who have gone before, But to some far oasis his eyes awaken Discovering her earlier signature. Always a man must follow, like sparrows’ winging, The wild, clear winds of beauty down the earth, Find his own song an echo of her singing, His laughter but a pattern of her mirth; Find even upon the lips of love each day The light of dawn that he must kiss away.

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