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.