swaying toward Kizhi Pogost in a soft surprise <br />of faith and hope, the angelic atmospheres <br />had filled with Chrysophrase-bloom and Freesia scent <br />those welcoming words, her failing accent <br /> <br />one seamless robe, her beauty spirit waits <br />on John Constable’s white anthem fights <br />for the silent saints who from their labors rest <br />her longing, beloved Besançon, pacing west <br /> <br />however to grief she grant her natural throes <br />and by their open bay amid the snows <br />of Paradise, thy tourmaline-crusted veils, thy go <br />must her precious life be nobler than a year ago <br /> <br />take her this Skocjan Caves of the living rock <br />and sculpture sisterhood from the savage block <br />strikes down those dusky carnivals to that marvelous gloom <br />of Chalcedony Splendor, and the Love in home<br /><br />Ahmad Shiddiqi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballad-8/
