ANGEL AND DEMON
Blackness of the cathedral dome, saddened by the yellow light
Of waxen candles shimmering, which burn
before the altars face;
While in the dark and spacious vault,
unpenetrated realms of space
Defy the tapers' tired eyes that strain
to probe unconquered night.
And empty is the twilight church, save where, upon the marble stair,
A child who like an angel kneels with
deeply bowed and feruent head.
Upon the altar stands, amidst the rosy
light the tapers shed,
With calm, pale face and gentle mean an
image of the virgin fair.
Within a sconce upon the wall a guttering candle burns and drips
And gleaming drops of molten pitch hiss
as they fall upon the ground,
While wreaths of dry and withered
flowers emit a gentle rustling sound,
And the maiden's secret prayer rests
silently upon her lips.
Sunk in the outer ring of dark, a marble cross his form concealing,
Wrapped in the shadow's heavy cloak,
"He" like a demon silent stands,
His elbows resting on the cross and hanging
down his tapered hands,
His eyes deep sunken in his head, his
furrowed brow strange grief revealing.
Against the crosse's chilly neck his burning cheek he thoughtfully lays;
About its snowy arms is looped his long
and raven hair.
The sad light of the candle glow scarce
reaches to the corner where;
Upon his draw and pallid face fall
feebly its yellow rays.
She ... an angel praying heaven-" He"... demon wrapped in woes;
She ...the pure, the golden
hearted-"He"...not heeding heaven's loss.
He ...in deathly shadow leaning on the
cold arms of the cross-
While from the sad Madonna's feet
"her" simple prayer to heaven goes.
Upon the wall by which she kneels, the high cool wall of marble fine
That shines as does the mountain snow,
that as calm water turns the light,
Clearly as on a mirror falls the shadow
of that maiden white,
Her bending shadow, like herself,
kneeling in prayer before the shrine.
O what can ail thee, maiden sweet ,with thy so gentle noble mien ?
Pale is thy face as is the snow, and
pale as wax thy tapered hands.
As river mist shot through with stars
that on the hills at evening stands,
So shine thy innocent ,soft eyes
,beneath their veiling lashes seen.
Angel thou art, yet something lacks; an angel's tall, star-spattered
wings.
But as I gaze I see take shape about
your shoulders flying lines;
What are they, trembling in the air?
Whence come these feathery designs?
An angel's pinion in the dusk towards
the gate of heaven springs.
O, but the shadow is not hers ;her guardian angel hovers there;
Against the whiteness of the wall I see
his radiant figure tower.
Over the maiden's sinless life he
watches with celestial power,
And as she bows her head to pray, he
too is bowed in fervent prayer.
But if this be an angle's wing, then "She" too angel is; for
though
The air brightness of her wings is not
revealed to eyes of man,
These walls alone, where age-long
prayer has been poured out in worship, can
Proclaim to us her angelhood and of her
wings existence show.
I love, I love thee fain would cry the demon from the twilight shade,
But the winged shadow guarding her the
utterance of his spirit sealed.
The passion died upon his lips; in
worship not in love he kneeled
And heard across the hollow nave her
timid murmur as she prayed.
..............................................................................................................
"She"? A princess fair as day, a crown of stars upon her head,
An angle in a woman's guise, going her
happy way trough life.
"He" A rebel of mankind,
blowing to flame the sparks of strife
And sowing hate in hopeless breasts
that to revolt by him are led.
Their ways of life are worlds apart, deep oceans lie between these twain,
Between them barricades of thought, the
better bloodshed of a race.
And yet at times their journeys cross,
they meet each other face to face,
Their eyes seek out each other's soul
and mingle with a curious pain.
With gentle yet absorbing gaze, her large and starlike deep blue eyes
Rest thoughtfully on his that do the
tempest and the lightning show.
While on his pallid face there mount
emotions warm and tender glow.
They love ... and yet what worlds
apart, what universe between them lies.
A monarch pale has come from far, a time old, crown he humbly brings;
The victor in a hundred wars, his
conquests would he make her own.
He begs to lead her as his bride along
the carpet to his throne
And place within her tiny hand the
sceptre of the king of kings.
But no, with parted lips she turns and does not speak the fatal word;
Her heart is silent in her breast and
from the king she draws her hands,
Her virgin soul is filed with love,
while in her dreams there ever stands
The demon's image like a god, for every
night his voice she heard.
She seems to see him leading men with words of fire, with winged ideas;
How brave, how powerful, how grand -
she thought in lovers' proud delight;
He leading on the rising age to conquer
and to claim its right
Against the lifeless piled up weight of
wisdom that experience rears.
She saw him standing on a rock, wrapt like a garment with his wrath
As with his banner's scarlet folds; his
beetling forehead deeply scoured
As though a black tempestuous night
when all the host of hell's aboard.
Out of his eyes the lightning gleamed,
intoxicating words poured forth.
...................................................................................................................
On a bed of boards the young man lies stretched in the agony of death,
Beside his couch a dim lamp burns, its
poor thin wick and meagre flame
Struggle against the cold damp air. No
man has ever heard his name,
None comes to ease his bitter lot, or
wet his lips that choke for breath.
O past are the days when in the world the thunder of his voice would roll
Against the written codes of law,
against the laws that bound and maimed,
And slew men in the name of God...today
the world's revenge is aimed
Upon the dying heretic, and stifles out
his stricken soul.
To die bereft of every hope, what man is there on earth who knows
The awful meaning of these words? To
feel enslaved and weak and small,
To fight and hope and see your plans
shrivelled to nothing after all,
To know that in the world is throned an
evil force none may oppose.
Your years were spent in strife with wrong, and you a useless fight have
fought,
And now you die and see your life was
wrecked in work without avail,
Such death is Hell. More bitter tears
than these ne'er coursed the visage pale
Of dying man. How cruel to know that
you and all the world are naught.
Such black thoughts rising in his breast delay the death for which he
yearns.
With what great gifts has he been born.
What passionate love of right and truth,
What sympathy for human kind, and all
the lofty flame of youth.
Behold his recompense at last, this
agony with which he burns.
But into that narrow tawdry room, breaking the mist that veiled his eye,
A silver shadow softly creeps; behold,
an angel shape comes near,
Sits lightly on the wretched bed,
kisses away each blinding tear
From those dimmed eyes; and now the
mist is torn away in ecstasy.
Aye, it is She. And with what joy, joy fathomless, before unknown,
He gazes in his angel's face and reads
love's tender pity there.
With long glance he is rapaid all his
life's anguish and despair.
He whispers with his dying breath :
"My love i know thee for my own.
I who
have laboured all my life poor and helpless souls to move,
Warring against the open skies with all
my burning discontent;
A demon, yet not cursed by God, for in
my dying hour he sent
His angel here to give me peace, and of
his peace the name is love".
English
version by Corneliu M. Popescu
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