Beauty it is, beauty that remains. Through the waves of fires she survives unscathed, unchanging, ever smiling to those who know her. Generous, never shy of the rich gifts she has: she embraces again and again the old believers who come to seek her radiant warmth without judgment. An enduring blaze of vigor she is, at once she explores the deepest depths of breasts and by sudden strike shakes their dust off to bring to light the ancient covenant therein -there the covenant, by which I, too, am bound. “Those who forget you can in no wise order sing”, it says, and once again I honor it. For how could I forget? How could I make the heart forget? Old memories rush in every direction, surrounding me, demanding my surrender. The doubt that this worn spirit might have unlearned surrendering itself, horrible thought! Death is preferable over such fate. May I rather be a prisoner in the comforting arms of Love, o Ancients, give ear to him who surrenders without protest! See that the soul lies wide open. Oh to drown in wine and the softness of Beauty’s caresses… To be drunk in the careless, boundless delight of that all-encompassing Love -o heart, learn to love again!-, to be drunk in the sweet music, to take my part among the alternating lines of such melliferous sound, my bliss. Shame, shame that I have forgotten to sing! Do such promises ring true still at my passing age? Beauty with her polytropic ways shall teach me to sing again -o tongue, learn to sing again!- or even become song myself.
Thereafter I shall rise as from the grave and honour the Vine-Bearing God, becoming as one with the everchanging patterns of eternal harmony, joining those who dance, those knowers of divine song and the partakers in the immortal wine of beauty.