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The Three Hours of Life
- The Three Hours of Life -
Splendid is the hour, when the sky is of hue rosy,
And the rising of the sun is fresh upon the land...
When above the tops of trees and hills, the rays!
They shine like the tines of a golden crown to see,
And none may slumber seeing all it may portend...
So may the soul be moved, when to glory it prays.
What power, that moves us through the day to rise,
Can read all that, within the heart, most often lies?
What hand, that guides us over the peril of snares,
Can keep us from being moved by those high stars?
As in our youth, we have much to learn and still do,
Before we may embark upon each journey anew.
Exalted is the time, when the earth is illuminated,
And the day is clear, as is each pleasant breeze...
When fair is the sky, and even fairer the weather!
Each hour we walk, like a pilgrimage once created,
And none may turn aside their craft on the seas...
Once gone upon their direction, like a true brother.
What strength, that drives us so fast on our goals,
Can mold us so, like a sword upon a forge's coals?
What force, that shapes us in the hour of destiny,
Can make us sally forth from the pleasant country?
As throughout our lives, we have duties to perform,
Before the hour of our rest can herald a new morn.
Beloved is the moment, when gold streaks the sky,
And brings the purple robes that must be donned...
When the sun must journey west into the vastness!
Pleasant is the company of evening none may deny,
And with the sealing of the light never abandoned...
The night may descend, so regal in her velvet dress.
What will, that calls us to surrender unto the night,
Can hold us so, enraptured by the stars' noble light?
What spirit, that humbles us so that we must sleep,
Can wake us until our dreams have taken us deep?
As when age has brought us wisdom, and reward,
Before we may understand the secret of the word.
Splendid is the hour, when the sky is of hue rosy,
And the rising of the sun is fresh upon the land...
When above the tops of trees and hills, the rays!
They shine like the tines of a golden crown to see,
And none may slumber seeing all it may portend...
So may the soul be moved, when to glory it prays.
What power, that moves us through the day to rise,
Can read all that, within the heart, most often lies?
What hand, that guides us over the peril of snares,
Can keep us from being moved by those high stars?
As in our youth, we have much to learn and still do,
Before we may embark upon each journey anew.
Exalted is the time, when the earth is illuminated,
And the day is clear, as is each pleasant breeze...
When fair is the sky, and even fairer the weather!
Each hour we walk, like a pilgrimage once created,
And none may turn aside their craft on the seas...
Once gone upon their direction, like a true brother.
What strength, that drives us so fast on our goals,
Can mold us so, like a sword upon a forge's coals?
What force, that shapes us in the hour of destiny,
Can make us sally forth from the pleasant country?
As throughout our lives, we have duties to perform,
Before the hour of our rest can herald a new morn.
Beloved is the moment, when gold streaks the sky,
And brings the purple robes that must be donned...
When the sun must journey west into the vastness!
Pleasant is the company of evening none may deny,
And with the sealing of the light never abandoned...
The night may descend, so regal in her velvet dress.
What will, that calls us to surrender unto the night,
Can hold us so, enraptured by the stars' noble light?
What spirit, that humbles us so that we must sleep,
Can wake us until our dreams have taken us deep?
As when age has brought us wisdom, and reward,
Before we may understand the secret of the word.
Published 20th Jan 2016
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20th Jan 2016 4:26am
Oh so wonderful to read: as if you place within the heroine's journey the admiration for nature found in the work of Robert Frost
Well said, Jazzmanor! And i am very happy to see you liked this poem of mine. Good comparison there, and very apt too I must say! Indeed, the Heroine's Journey has much that can be compared to nature since it is a primal journey that is as old as the world itself if not as old as time itself. Both the journey itself and nature itself are things that one cannot help but admire, so no such poem would be complete without that admiration being present. And in this poem, these things are all intertwined within greater cycles still. Very good to see you noticed this! Thanks for taking the time to leave so insightful a comment. :)
