by John Lars Zwerenz
Roving on the bright, spacious lawn of the palace,
I have come to behold the lady clad in white,
Who steps onto the the balcony in the sunlight.
I stand below entranced, drinking from a chalice.
Amid the gray cast of ancient stone she appears,
As a breeze blows back the long tresses of her hair.
I am drunk with quatrains and the summery air,
With my lady and with wine, with regal belvederes.
Many billows from God are flung to the north.
The silhouettes of basswoods, of dark, turquoise-blues
Shed their shadows near the palace, on broad avenues.
Descending from the terrace, my lady comes forth,
And we wander for a rapturous hour,
As I finish my Chablis,
Through the garden, through the bower,
In an atmosphere of sanctity.
Last updated June 20, 2016