Stanza I

One golden twelfth part of a checkered year;
One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth,
With nae a hint of Shadows lurking near,
Or storm clouds brewing.
Twas a royal day: Voluptous June held her lover, Earth,
And twined her warm arms , upon her glowing breast,
And twined herself about him, as he lay
Smiling and panting in his dream stirred rest.
She bound him with her limbs of perfect grace,
And hid him with her trailing robe of green,
And wound him in her long hair's shimmering sheen,
And rained her ardent kisses on his face.

Stanza II

Through the glad glory of the moonlight of the summer land
Shayanna and Ashram went wandering, hand in hand.
In winding paths, hard by the ripe wheat field,
White with the promise of a bounteous yield.
Across the late shorn meadow~ down the hill,
Red with the tiger-lily blossoms, till
They stood upon the borders of the lake,
That like a pretty , placid infant, slept
Low at its base: and little ripples crept
Along its surface, just as dimples chase
Each other o'er an infant's sleeping face

Stanza III

Shayanna in her idle hours had learned to make
A thousand pretty, feminine things;
For her Den Labout suited for her beautiful strong hands.
That morning she had been at work in wax,
Molding a wreath of flowers for her room~
Taking her patterns from the living blows,
In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom
Fresh from the Forest's gardens.
Fuchsia, tulip, rose,
And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch,
Resembling the living plants as much
As Life is copied in the form of death:
These lacking but the parfum and that, breath.

Stanza IV

And now the wreath was all completed, save
The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom,
A water-lily, dripping from the wave.
And twas in search of it that Shayanna and Ashram had come
Down to the lake, beneath the glittering moonbeams,
and wandered on the beach,
To see if any lilies grew in reach.
Some broken stalks, where flowers late had been;
Some buds, with all their beauties folded in,
They found, but nae the treasure that they sought.
And then they turned their footsteps to the spot
Where, all impatient of its chain, her boat,
"The Swan" rocked, asking to be let afloat.
It was a a beautiful row boat~ strong, yet light;
Each side a swan was painted snowy white:
A present from some forgotten foe, just before
He sailed with Death, to that mysterious strand,
Where freighted ships go sailing evermore,
But none return to tell us of the Land.
Dispatched there by the Great WarLady's hand!

Stanza V

Ashram freed the "Swan", and slowly rowed about,
Wherever sea weeds, grass, or green leaves lifted
Their tips above the water.
So they drifted,
While Shayanna, opposite, leaned idly out
And watched for lillies in the waves below,
And softly sang some sweet and dreamy air,
That soothed Ashram like a mother's lullabies.
Ashram dropped the oars, and closed his moon-kissed eyes
And let the boat go drifting here and there.

Stanza VI

From day dreams,
As silvered as the summer midnight's moonbeams,
Shayanna awakened from her reverie and, starting up,
she cast her gaze around,
And looked upon Ashram,
Love filled eyes admiring this thing of grace;
And to her looked the glowing , handsome face
Of Ashram. "Beauteous siren of the sea,
Come sail across the raging main with me!"
Ashram laughed; and leaning, drew Shayanna
Into his embrace.
"There, now! Drown!" he said,
"We'll take the oars, and let it float
Ashore at leisure.
Ah, Shayanna, I've reached the height of pleasure, and mine wishes.
Adieu despondency! Farewell to care!"

Stanza VII

Whatever Ashram had was of the best.
His room was like some Sultan's in the East.
His board was always spread for Shayanna as for a feast,
Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest.
He would go hungry sooner than he'd dine
At his own table if twere illy set.
He so loved things artistic in design~
Order and beauty, all in Shayanna, all about him.
Yet So kind he was, if it befell his lot
To dine within the humble peasant's cot,
He made it seem his native soil to be,
And thus displayed the true gentility.

Stanza VIII

Under the rosy banners of the "Swan"
Around the lake, Shayanna and Ashram, drifted on, and on,
It was a time for dreams, and nae for speech.
And so they floated on in silence, each
Weaving the fancies suiting such an eve.
Shayanna leaned idly o'er the boat's side,
And dipped her rosy fingers in the tide;
And Ashram among the cushions half reclined
Half sat, and watched the twinkling stars at play
Both lost in inspiration of some kind.

Stanza IX

No time, no change, no scene, can e'er efface
Shayanna's mind and impression of that hour and place;
It stands out like a picture.
O'er the years
Black at times with their robes of Sorrow~
veiled with tears
Lying with all their lengthened shapes between
Untouched, undimmmed, Shayanna beholds that scene.
Just as the last Indian Summer days
Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze
Followed by dark night and desolate December
Through all the months and nights of winter she remembers.
Shayanna was leaning by Ashram, and her head
Rested against his shoulder; and he pondered,
Ashram stroked her hair, and watched the starry night,
And Shayanna felt too happy and too shy to meet Ashram's gaze just then.
Ashram said," Tis very sweet thy Lips , thy blood,
thy sparkling heart and suits the night; m'Love, m'Lady dear."
But, Shayanna voiceless, did nae seem to hear.
"Tis strange," Ashram added,"how poets sing So feelingly..."





----from a Song of the VryceGriffinsbanes by their daughter, Edain