House of Silver Flowers

1.
It's said of every city and gathering,
That being fit for prosperity and glory,
Excess in richness, burdened with treasure,
Its men grow lax, offspring fit for leisure,
Unweaned of indulgence, of boundless wealth;
Soon overpowered by age and health,
They feel the weight of life on their shoulders,
And some lose their way, others their bliss,
When on dark evenings they'd part with a kiss;
And soon forgetting the touch of death,
Some pawn their jewels and give out their might
To a passing magician, to reclaim some night.
From these come those who in their dismay's pit,
Having yet succumbed to their furies' wit;
Who in lonely nights with fixated eye,
Would damn the missives of paternal sky,
And of those, who with myriad riches endowned,
Have of their familial love long been disawoved;
It is these, who leaving from their ivory towers,
Seek the houses of pleasure and of silver flowers.

2.
Suppose then, that this here be such a city,
To whom the able man of every race,
Is drawn to make abode on the central place,
And where his sons grow lax, daughters immoral,
Till wandering, they come to grasp the truth,
That like a fleeting bird is their youth,
And that the bliss they've had since birth,
Could be more, its extremes still higher,
If together they'd band to seek this desire.
And this here then, is such a feasthouse,
Its inhabitants no virtue and no morals rouse,
And no saintly power here holds its force.
Like a castle, with sundry fences rimmed,
With thousand windows, all with veils dimmed,
The forbidden city stands, large as the garden,
Where the king of China kept his glen;
Its roofs and domes now shine with gold,
Its stately doors are adorned with gems,
Which as roses sport silver from their stems.

3.
Beyond the door lies the chamber of pleasure,
Where to debt some turn their family's treasure;
And if you allow me some digression, the wine
Though inferior to other drugs, is here so fine
As to be worth eternity, and thus here some stay,
As ever and ever, passes the passing day.
Though companiate forms pass here too,
Theirs the company both fickle and slight,
As their acquaintance lasts but a night,
And here only the common and base variety,
Make their stay, and feel illimited glee;
To others, its but begining, to start
One's delving, and to make an initiative;
An aperitif of what the House can give.
Thus most here enjoy the culinaries of earth
But a moment, to avoid gaining too much girth,
And wine too flows but a moment, fore it stops,
To savour the taste most taste it in drops;
Yet soon move past, and continue on,
So that while some remain, soon most have gone.

4.
In the second chamber then, the common love
Holds sway and dominates the conversation,
And the gifted fraction of every station
Here unites, and beside a fountain makes merry.
Shifting walls enclose this place, and here
Many shrouds of seething lust appear,
And beside where a loving company sleeps,
Some idle Cupids now finger their bows,
And watch over, as their power slowly grows.
I suppose, no garden or woodland bower,
Was more welcoming, to pass an idle hour,
Nor so made, as to more salute sincere love;
Truly, those chambers behind and forward,
Most taste once or twice, then discard,
Find their seats in some empty garden,
And then summon a lovely and peerless friend,
In whose company all their years then spend.
Yet men like wolves sometimes ignore
Their nature, and sometimes walk past open fire,
And wander off in search of different desire.

5.
In the third chamber then, the highest of arts,
Flourish and flower, and gather in beauty,
While being cultivated in peaceful harmony;
A bit of scenery then: there's boundless chamber,
Betwixt with the noblest trees of nature,
Amongst which statues of classic taste endure,
Yet no paintings, the canvas being dome and walls,
So that no relief can challenge those of these halls,
Which being so vibrant and strong, and emotional
In content, not only mimic but surpass life,
So that a glance remakes scenes of peace and strife.
The reader may suppose its a place of pedantry,
Of academic virtue, removed from life and truth,
Yet that is not so, the artist that here rules
Is no ghoul, and its nobility no fools;
For as they say, 'A life that avoids a fantasy,
Is dreamless and dead,' and so but few do qualify,
And it is ruled by the mighty and the wild of eye,
As some here chat to statues, and others think they reply.

6.
The fourth chamber then, is but for the few,
As most find nothing, and walk right through,
For the chamber's empty, or close enough,
With secluded corners, gardens hid behind a shade,
That few ever find, and where no merry is made.
Its a place of silence, where none comes but flees,
Discontented of what in the world he sees.
The only voice here is when the wind blows,
An innocent voice that never reveals who there goes,
Who wanders, seeking solace in walking,
And who perches, seeking solace in stillness.
As one may guess, the inhabitants are so rare,
That here they're ever alone in their lair,
Whoever they might be, wolves or men,
Or but lonesome spirits. So, let's give example,
Here's the rarest of the seclusive kind,
Someone who's unique, whose peer you'll not find,
A long lost heroine, having discarded her spear,
Removed her glittering mail, bare-feet she walks,
With aversion to company, only to fauna she talks.

7.
This here then, the fifth and last of chambers,
Is all but empty, inhabits no company but one;
Unadorned and stark, the door itself does lock,
I suppose, to keep away the uninitiated flock;
Not that it'd tempt many, with one window,
And one object, a globe of transparent glass,
Through which one sees, how some clouds pass.
Its ruler is mysterious too, perhaps a hero,
Or shall I say, what one sees when looks to a mirror,
Or an ideal, a person pictured as a seeking force,
That looks for but a reason, or its own source.
Its a small room, unfurnished, atop a tiny tower,
That overlooks the house with its many rooms,
And where one can see the graveyard with its tombs;
There's no reason to inhabit it, unless it be
To observe the house and the passing clouds,
And to clear one's head of the unruly crowds,
Or perhaps, I've heard, his is the great purpose,
To seek what neither silence nor company brings,
To grasp the reason of all these earthly things.

Extempore

'They say,
God in heaven keeps a list of his creatures,
In which he notes all of the human features,
And this perhaps being of reader's interest,
Well, - let him check with which he's been blest:'
'Firstly, let us deal with the common variety,
It being so common, - 'tis the reason we have society,'
'Secondly, some constantly clamber and climb,
Till up there, - they'll find one copper dime,'
'Thirdly, let us not ignore the faithful lot,
I say, - theirs the habit to mistake a hat and a pot,'
'Fourthly, consider the fanatic, zealous, strict,
Of these are eunuchs, soliders, and porters picked,'
Fifthly, some are defined by being so artistic,
These always, - like leeches form their own clique,'
'Sixtly, the greedy, lustful and overtly gluttonous,
Together make up the category miscellaneous,'
'Seventhly, some are defined by their lack of motion,
They blend among us well, - like a drop in an ocean,'
'Eightly, the common love and amorous contact,
Some minds dominate, - the majority, to be exact,'
'Ninthly, there are those austere kind of men,
Who regret, - that man ever left his cave and den,'
'And finally, suppose there's also the virtous kind,
These, - from this list you will not find.'

Interlude

There are times, as when with violent fatigue pressed,
And keen to indulge in a wasteful, willful thought,
When though yet with beauty and youthful awe blessed,
One little cares for what his heedless hand has wrought,
And would rather lay a sleeping head on earthly breast.
Then thinking as if all trembling passion now has ceased,
And leaning to a motherly bust, he'd seek soothing sleep,
To abjure both lively emotion and all worrying fears;
And no aspiration nor worthy ambition he would keep,
But in sanctuary lay, and not wake up in thousand years.

Phaëton

Phaeton, Phaeton, mother's listless boy,
Asks his origin, annoys his ardent joy,
Whence comes his frame, whence the charm;
Asks his due, whence comes the strenght of arm?
His mother sighs, but soon she tells: 'My love,
Pale frame's a gift, that charm's from above,
Flex are your fingers, tendons like your sires;
His bound orbs, yours shall kindle fires.'
For this dances Phaeton, as mother's words he hears,
And soon clambers up, leaves mother to her fears.
Up above Phaeton, forth brings fool's desire,
Harries father sun, his divine sourceless sire,
Sleeplessly argues, bothers long aloud,
Peeks to the heaven, he passes a gate of cloud;
Circles, circles; soon he runs to the matter:
'Am I not unhappy heir, beget by heedless father,
He won't give me chariot, locks away the steed,
Like a thief, come night, he would hide the deed,
And not let a proper son, with proper pride,
Follow adoring suit, follow his fiery ride;
So obstinate is father's heart, it looks away,
When his son trails the fleet feet of day.'
The fickle father now, looks up and down,
His fingers tremble, unsure ease his crown.
Long silence follows, but soon he claims:
'Beautiful son, my foolish heart a healthy mind
Keeps in check, holds in breast confined;
My steed that nightly tours the stars,
For you is caged, for you beats the prison-bars.'
But obstinate are boys too, boastfully bellow,
And sires' hearts grow weary, their minds mellow;
Hard assaults Phaeton, sundry arguments does raise,
Till father sighs, no longer averts his eyes:
'Phaeton, Phaeton, foolish son; my heart is rent,
Let me soundly sleep, father's will is bent,
Tomorrow younger hands shall raise the sun,
Fool's feet shall kick the steed, reins hold my son.'
Content Phaeton now retires to his mother's keep,
Callow son, he now lets his father sleep.
Soon the day is here, yet morn is dark,
When cock crows, now Phaeton likes to embark;
The unsure father, he but anoints his son's head,
Strange oils onto Phaeton's crown he'll spread,
To keep the flame away, let a star flicker past,
Phaeton's head will remain same he saw it last.
And now's the time of dawn, Phaton kicks the steed,
With smoking boot; now horses onwards lead;
Step by step, now hoofs of horses pound;
Step by step, now recedes the blurring ground;
Past flies the tallest tower, keep of mothers will,
Its windows pierce no light, mother worries still.
Step by step they go, through an airy realm;
Step by step, greedy Phaeton grips the helm;
Past palatial clouds, past majestic rocks they go,
Now above the milky dome, cloud-archs leave below,
Past titanic peaks they go; below in the scape of land,
Phaeton sees how the divine map is planned;
Sees the race of men, how they fill the earth to its brim,
And above, how flows the fine hair of seraphim!
They fly past the last could; a sizzling, broiling wisp;
Climb past an alpine range, through a mountain mist;
Now climb the sky, clamber a highway trail,
Whence soon sounds father's worrying wail;
Yet Phaeton climbs higher, past the peaks and on,
Fathers voice is dim, and soon his sound is gone.
The skies open up, and there below he sees,
How all father's kingdom sleeps in peace;
The sparkling orbs that here spiral and orbit,
In flaming course through skies they flit;
Below thus opens the cloudy map, Jove's atlas,
He sees through, like a child a globe of glass;
And yet above, some giant ball is whirling round,
Like a titan's feet it's flailing about;
Dazzled Phaeton, now bereft is his grip of force;
Weaker hand now grab the rein, senses the horse;
And buck and romp! now rages and riots the cart!
Till wrong way haste the steeds, from right course apart!
And callow Phaeton, with horror sees the home,
Flicker and blink, as wherever do horses roam,
And the blue orb, it grows cold in distant sight.
The fickle sun! Flees to heinous heights,
And there stops. In distance is Phaeton's peace,
As their mad race the steeds now cease.
Now flaming, now fleeing, the reckless star of day,
In silence glides, so far from the familiar way;
Phaeton gasps for air, sweeps his sweaty brow,
And checks up above, checks down and below,
How so far and distant, the path of day is past;
Yet checks again, how the earth is moving fast!
Now down from the sky and down from the space,
Down, down; Phaeton plunges down from grace,
And the orbs flit by, now flash in lines of speed;
That dome of milk, it shatters below the flaming steed;
Step by step, their fiery diamond-hoof,
Step by step, it pierces through the cloudy roof!
Soon would burst the continents five, in heat
Of sun they blaze; and Jove in his Olympian seat,
Wakes from a dream, from his window glances out,
Shakes and roars, notes a rabble rousing rout,
And how so wails the earth, below a falling flame.
That the king from his seat, would decree a word of blame.
Mournful and with sorrow, he goes to his labour,
A word of blame, of shame sends to his neighbour,
Then his fingers flexes, a violent bolt he throws,
Through a flaming chariot, past Phaeton it goes.
Axes break and clatter, the aisle now is broke;
The flight of day is past, it ends in fury's stroke.
The steeds to their stable flee, their reins undone,
Driverless the chariot drops, and down plummets Phaeton.