Out of that first blood Eros appeared, being androgynous. ...
He is very lovely in his beauty, having a charm beyond all
the creatures of chaos. Then all the gods and their angels,
when they beheld Eros, became enamored of him. And
appearing in all of them he set them afire. ...

--"On the Origin of the World", 109
a Gnostic tractate from
The Nag Hammadi Library in English,
James M. Robinson, general editor

I

When nightly in Love's draughts we steep our souls,
And taste of Joy, imbibing heady wine
(His passion hotter than the fiery coals),
No pen nor tongue can tell the bliss that's mine!
With Phoebus' flaming orb the larks do rise,
And with the love-sick doves sing praise to Joy--
I gaze upon this Faun who sleeping lies
(So childlike, and yet much more than a boy)
And marvel at such richness, mine at last!
I know not if this love will triumph grief,
Or if, like former hopes, be overcast--
I only know (such is my firm belief)
This boy's the Sacred Altar where I kneel
In humble adoration, praise, and zeal!

II

The morning Lark's proud song doth so inspire
A rapture in the souls of all who hear
His heav'nly strains, their hearts no more require;
Yet could he sing but half so sweet, my dear,
As thou appearest lovely to mine eye,
He'd far outsing the purest heav'nly choirs,
And all the Seraph hosts above would vie
To learn the source of his amorous fires.
The only primal flame which they would find
Would be thy slim, angelic form, my love,
For only thy great beauty could remind
Them of the song which they admir'd above:
Can even angels see a form like thine,
And eke with songs of longing not repine?

III

Thy radiant beauty seems so all-divine
That surely the Seraphic hosts above
Must long for thee, as longing I repine--
Oh let me not disturb thy slumbers, love!
The rising sun doth pause at morning's light
To gently play his rays about thy face,
With such a tender longing that he might
Be thought to even worship thy sweet grace.
Such Joy!--to gaze upon thy boyish shape--
The golden down upon thy parted lips,
Lithe limbs and silken hair (I fain would rape),
Smooth, dusky skin, arousing, uncloth'd hips--
How can a stunning, god-like form as thine
Be mortal-born, yet with such glory shine?

IV

L'envoy

If praising thee will bring love in return,
Doubt not, my lad, I'll praise thee all the more,
For love's acceptance causes me to yearn
As ne'er before for thee, whom I adore;
Then let me never, dearest love-god, fail
To bring thee satisfaction while I may:
With solemn, rev'rent words I thee will hail,
Thou lovely Sprite, thou charming Faery-Fay.
But oh, my Soul--if ever thou should'st find
That proffer'd love brings sorrow in return,
Then cease these amorous ravings of thy mind:
From fickleness and empty hopes then turn--
Why should'st thou with such grief y-burthen'd be?
Life's far too short to spend in misery!

T.J. White,

18 April 1988 (I),
19 November 1987 (II),
30 October, 1987 (III),
6 November 1987 (IV),
amended 12 January, 2007
and 24 March, 2007

_____________________________________________

Brief Author's commentary:

Yes, I use an archaic--even obsolete--version of English. It could also reasonably be argued that these poems are ahistorical. That does not concern me. I am a student of the English language, and consider said language (equally in ALL of its periods or phases) to be my property for contemporary usage. I have always been slightly irritated by the fact that some very lovely words and grammatical constructions once current in the language have been so universally allowed to languish, simply because some people insist on referring to them as 'obsolete'. Yes, the 'Authorised' Version of the Bible is also in many respects 'obsolete', but does that fact negate the beauty of the language and constructions? Hardly, I think. My idea was simply to say, "If those words and sentences were beautiful and lovely to read, why not occasionally write that way also?"

I hope that these particular poems, aside from their obvious 'archaicisms', will be judged nonetheless based on whether or not they are well-written, well-thought-out, and well-constructed. To write sonnets is a difficult enough endeavour. To then link several sonnets by theme and structure into a larger unified whole--a finished product which displays even deeper levels of thought and construction--is an even more difficult endeavour rarely undertaken these days, it seems to me. What I have attempted to do here would be equivalent to a person today trying to write a magnificent cantata in the style of Bach--comparable in style, scope, talent and brilliance, to the Master's originals.

You be the judge of how well I succeeded (or how poorly I failed) in this task.

I hope that discerning readers of the above poems will note echoes here and there (echoes--not quotes) not only of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Barnfield, but also of Poe. I have attempted--and not only here, but elsewhere as well--to master usage and control of the English language as Poe did (though I confess myself still far behind him). No-one, I think, will ever quite be able to again handle the language so fluidly and expertly as he did. ... (alas).

I thank you sincerely for allowing me to share these poems with you--this work I spent so many hours of labour upon. It is my hope that in addition to its being learned, studied, and complex, it may also somehow come across as being fresh and relevant today.

Cordially,

T.J. White