Tag Archives: Pagan

Sonnet III: Dark Lady

Posted by David Emeron on

O Mistress of the Light, why burn thine eyes
So bright? What mystery dost thou reveal;
What stranger thee, thine eye to me conceal
Within thy night, thine opalescent skies?

O Child of the Earth, Who guards so fine
Thy berth? Who hath consoled thine eyes of pain;
And giv’st thee hold, to lands controlled? Explain
What purpose gives’ thee worth to thus enshrine.

O Mistress of the Dark, When shalt thou next
Embark? Dost one thou know as darker still;
So dark as goe the depths below? But thrill
Such depths, as stark, Cimmerian, as vexed?

As vexed, but thrilling still, thou next enshrine;
Thine eyes reveal concealing skies so fine.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet II: Rebirth

Posted by David Emeron on

Still, this fearsome sibylline wonder falls
Silent to her very parting lips.
Her soft, resilient splendour candid dips
Below her barren, naked, winter halls

The silent wind who lulls; a stolid wall–
As a river empty of passing ships
Creates for her a quiet, lulling crypt;
A place of fitful reverie that all

Might pass unheeded. Still it signifies
Her needed rest; her ever-present pain;
A tribute to her elemental dance,
Whose song remains in echoing reply.
Sing, my Goddess, sing thy great romance;
Thine awe inspired dance wast not in vain!

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet I: Death

Posted by David Emeron on

Within the misted shrouds of Erin’s dark
And fertile land–so dark, the magic there–
The Lady courseth through the land and air
Where no man shall her baneful music hark.

Yet keens’ she still to heather and to lark;
Her soul, still toucheth, frighteningly fair
As dark, her opalescent, raven, hair.
But now, stand solemn cairns of stone who mark

The bed of earth where she hath lain to rest.
And dreameth, ominous, as given life,
Her gift of fearsome song, and of her man;
From death he craveth comfort of her breast.

Who feeleth still, where ere he drifts’; the land
He toucheth, dark, as with her spirit rife.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: