The Voice of the Valley/The Song of Songs
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The Song of Songs
which is Noguchi's
I Hail Myself as I do Homer
The heart of God, the unpretending heaven, concealing the midnight stars in glassing the day of earth,
Showers his brooding love upon the green-crowned goddess, May Earth, in heart-lulling mirth.
O Poet, begin thy flight by singing of the hidden soul in vaporous harmony;
Startle the lazy noon drowsing in the full-flowing tide of the sunbeams nailing thy chants in Eternity!
The melody breathing peace in the name of Spring, calms tear to smile, envy to rest.
Ah thou, world of this day, sigh not of the poets who have deserted thee—aye, I hail myself as I do Homer!
Behold, a baby flower hymns the creation of the universe in the breeze, charming my soul as the lover-moon!
O Yone,—a ripple of the vanity-water, a raindrop from the vanity-cloud,—lay thy body under the sun-enameled shade of the trees
As a heathen idol in an untrodden path awakening in spirit sent by the unseen genius of the sphere!
The earth, a single-roomed hermitage for mortals, shows not unto me a door to Death on the joy-carpeted floor—
Aye, I call the once dead light of day from the dark-breasted slumber of night!—
I repose in the harmonious difference of the divine Sister and Brother,—Voice and Silence in Time.
O Yone, return to Nature in the woodland,—thy home, where Wisdom and Laughter entwine their arms!
Ah Cities, scorning the order of the world, ye plunder rest from night, paint day with snowy vice,—
Alas, the smoke-dragon obscures the light of God; the sky-measuring steeple speaks of discontent unto the Heaven!
O Yone, wander not city-ward—there thou art sentenced to veil thy tears with smiles!
Behold, the cloud hides the sins of the cities—regiments of redwood-giants guard the holy gates of the woodland against the shames!
Chant of Nature, O Yone,—sing thy destiny—hymn of darkness for the ivory-browed dawn—
Behold, the deathless Deity blesses thee in silence from the thousand temples of the stars above!
Showers his brooding love upon the green-crowned goddess, May Earth, in heart-lulling mirth.
O Poet, begin thy flight by singing of the hidden soul in vaporous harmony;
Startle the lazy noon drowsing in the full-flowing tide of the sunbeams nailing thy chants in Eternity!
The melody breathing peace in the name of Spring, calms tear to smile, envy to rest.
Ah thou, world of this day, sigh not of the poets who have deserted thee—aye, I hail myself as I do Homer!
Behold, a baby flower hymns the creation of the universe in the breeze, charming my soul as the lover-moon!
O Yone,—a ripple of the vanity-water, a raindrop from the vanity-cloud,—lay thy body under the sun-enameled shade of the trees
As a heathen idol in an untrodden path awakening in spirit sent by the unseen genius of the sphere!
The earth, a single-roomed hermitage for mortals, shows not unto me a door to Death on the joy-carpeted floor—
Aye, I call the once dead light of day from the dark-breasted slumber of night!—
I repose in the harmonious difference of the divine Sister and Brother,—Voice and Silence in Time.
O Yone, return to Nature in the woodland,—thy home, where Wisdom and Laughter entwine their arms!
Ah Cities, scorning the order of the world, ye plunder rest from night, paint day with snowy vice,—
Alas, the smoke-dragon obscures the light of God; the sky-measuring steeple speaks of discontent unto the Heaven!
O Yone, wander not city-ward—there thou art sentenced to veil thy tears with smiles!
Behold, the cloud hides the sins of the cities—regiments of redwood-giants guard the holy gates of the woodland against the shames!
Chant of Nature, O Yone,—sing thy destiny—hymn of darkness for the ivory-browed dawn—
Behold, the deathless Deity blesses thee in silence from the thousand temples of the stars above!
Hymn of Summer
This is the month of gracious shade of trees—dusky hair on the marble ground-chest invoking mortals' worship.
Here the composed wonder of the earth-canvas is divided by the proud black shade and virtuous white light.
Sing, Summer Muse, the abundant love of the shade and light that overflows from Time's grand breast!
Harken, Genii, to the light and shade—gay prattle that is the despair of the poet's soul!—
The zealous breezes from the four corners of the universe are pilgrims unto the forest-shrine where I pray.
Confess, mortals, the deep-grounded sins of thy memory-record unto the God of the Woodland!
Ah, wonderful is the sacred remedy ensainting mortals' self-love at the forest-shrine!
Listen! The sorrowless birds rejoice at the revealing of the Perfect Day; they bend not their wishes unto titles and gold.
Enter into Paradise, mortals,—the guardian-birds of the hidden gate call thee!
Come, Goddess, whose maiden eye-doors are enameled with the dethroned stars of heaven—
Come, Beauty, whose lips, portals to the love-mansion of her heart, are illumined with blood from flower cheeks,
Sing unto thy slave the song of the angel-land where thou and I hide from vile mortals!
Sing, Summer Muse, the everlasting greenness of trees that breathes the unwithering health of celestial youth!
I hail the beauteous abundance of the leaves that perfect their secret toilet with the sun's power!
Rise, Poet, sing of the fairy world that is not Time's mere fancy, where the olive of balmy age ever lives!
Thou, fearless mortals against Fate's tyranny, art the worthy partners of Heaven and Earth!
Oh, this is the happy month of the ethereal water that destroys Death and Sorrow for mortals under the shade!
I repose in the shade-breezes from angels' gardens—I sing the summer song that the rivulet echoes down from afar!
Here the composed wonder of the earth-canvas is divided by the proud black shade and virtuous white light.
Sing, Summer Muse, the abundant love of the shade and light that overflows from Time's grand breast!
Harken, Genii, to the light and shade—gay prattle that is the despair of the poet's soul!—
The zealous breezes from the four corners of the universe are pilgrims unto the forest-shrine where I pray.
Confess, mortals, the deep-grounded sins of thy memory-record unto the God of the Woodland!
Ah, wonderful is the sacred remedy ensainting mortals' self-love at the forest-shrine!
Listen! The sorrowless birds rejoice at the revealing of the Perfect Day; they bend not their wishes unto titles and gold.
Enter into Paradise, mortals,—the guardian-birds of the hidden gate call thee!
Come, Goddess, whose maiden eye-doors are enameled with the dethroned stars of heaven—
Come, Beauty, whose lips, portals to the love-mansion of her heart, are illumined with blood from flower cheeks,
Sing unto thy slave the song of the angel-land where thou and I hide from vile mortals!
Sing, Summer Muse, the everlasting greenness of trees that breathes the unwithering health of celestial youth!
I hail the beauteous abundance of the leaves that perfect their secret toilet with the sun's power!
Rise, Poet, sing of the fairy world that is not Time's mere fancy, where the olive of balmy age ever lives!
Thou, fearless mortals against Fate's tyranny, art the worthy partners of Heaven and Earth!
Oh, this is the happy month of the ethereal water that destroys Death and Sorrow for mortals under the shade!
I repose in the shade-breezes from angels' gardens—I sing the summer song that the rivulet echoes down from afar!
Adieu
Adieu, Sons and Daughters of the first pair of mortals!
Adieu, City—you know not of celestial joy rippling in tune with nature!
Adieu, Fame—a sunbeam following the darkness of night!
Adieu, Gold—glittering dust of the earth, valueless in the land of Heaven!
Adieu, Mansions—you wall the sky, hide the moon and the stars!
I love the unbroken peace of the country uniting the purple heaven with the green-carpeted earth below,—
I love the saintly chant of the winds touching their odorous fingers to the harp of the angel, Spring,—
I love the undiscording sound of thousands of birds, whose concord of song echoes on the rivulet afar,—
I muse on the solemn mountain which waits in sound content for the time when the Lord calls forth,—
I roam with the wings of high-raised fantasy in the pure universe,—
Oh, I chant of the garden of Adam and Eve!
Behold! The night's shadow girding round our half-sphere, the world goes into reverie,—
Yea, my spirit in a dream rises afar to steal the matchless pearls of eternal stars!
Hark! the far-off fowl sings of the divine morn of light! I hail the glorious sun's ascent!
I chant again of the complete order of the universe with the earth, with the heaven above!
Adieu, City—you know not of celestial joy rippling in tune with nature!
Adieu, Fame—a sunbeam following the darkness of night!
Adieu, Gold—glittering dust of the earth, valueless in the land of Heaven!
Adieu, Mansions—you wall the sky, hide the moon and the stars!
I love the unbroken peace of the country uniting the purple heaven with the green-carpeted earth below,—
I love the saintly chant of the winds touching their odorous fingers to the harp of the angel, Spring,—
I love the undiscording sound of thousands of birds, whose concord of song echoes on the rivulet afar,—
I muse on the solemn mountain which waits in sound content for the time when the Lord calls forth,—
I roam with the wings of high-raised fantasy in the pure universe,—
Oh, I chant of the garden of Adam and Eve!
Behold! The night's shadow girding round our half-sphere, the world goes into reverie,—
Yea, my spirit in a dream rises afar to steal the matchless pearls of eternal stars!
Hark! the far-off fowl sings of the divine morn of light! I hail the glorious sun's ascent!
I chant again of the complete order of the universe with the earth, with the heaven above!