Renewal of Fountains

Bright universe unseen, yet seen awhile
Precious and brief as a tree bathed in light,
And in shy sudden flowers
In rain, in hasty storm.

Or where the air is moist in trancèd heat
Under the noonday sun remote and high,
We wander and are lost
In golden shadowy lanes.

Or in the hyacinth shadows of the night,
Where the black hill’s immaculate warm lines
Meet with translucent blue,
And dark waters run.

With silver-pointed stars for company,
Light-tipped, soft-shaded, deep the world revolves.
Oh eloquent bright eyes
That pierce through shade.

All this endures, revives and calms the heart
When the harsh day is done, the bitter wars;
And winter’s icy voice
Chills sky and air.

Here, waiting for renewal, fountains play,
Sparkling, inviting, dancing, and withdrawn,
Hope withers and is green
Destroyed, restored.

Wanderer in intricate paths, bewildered soul,
When all that pleased you once shall please no more,
Rest, and desire no rest
Under the common grass.

— Marya Zaturenska,
born this day in 1902

 

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