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from Sonnets to Orpheus
Part I: 15
Wait...that tastes good...It flies away fast.
...Just a bit of music, a trampling, a humming:
girls, you warm, you silent girls coming,
dance the taste of the fruit you test!
Dance the orange. Who can forget it,
how it drowns in itself, yet strives not to do
what makes it sweet! Now you have got it:
exquisitely, it has become you.
Dance the orange. The warmer land,
project from you, so this ripe fruit glisten
in its native air! Oh ardently fling
off fragrance on fragrance. Create the relation
with the pure, the unyielding rind,
with the juice that brims this happy thing!
Part II: 18
Dancer: O you translation
of all transiency into action, how you made it clear!
And the whirl of the finish, that tree of motion,
didn't it wholly take in the hard-won year?
And didn't its summit, so that your flourish just now could swarm
about it, blossom with stillness? And up in the blue
wasn't it summer and sunlight, with the warm
immeasurable warmth from you?
But it also bore, it bore, your tree of rapture.
Aren't these its peaceful fruits: the pitcher
striped with ripening, and the more ripened vase?
And in the decoration: has not the drawing
endured, the dark line your eyebrows traced
swiftly in the texture of their own turning?