Sing - O Thessalian one

Phillip A. Ellis

Sing, O Thessalian one,
   enchant my heart with your song,
   sing me no right and no wrong,
sing until singing is done.

Like siren you seem, O sweet,
   upon all your rocks I fall,
   unstopper ears at your call
so mystical, fair, and fleet

that the mayfly hours all know
   the span of your songs that run
   faster than the stars or sun
or else the breezes that blow.

Like honey your songs, I deem,
   sweet to the tongue and delight,
   like beckoning lights at night
that within the moth’s sight gleam.

Like incense they flow, arise
   beautifully scented and rare
   like ancient or mystic air
that charms the romantic skies.

So sing, Thessalian heart,
   beautiful chansons that lilt
   like traceries gods had built
to capture the soul of art,

or sprites of delicate breeze
   that touches the world so light
   no leaf is stirred into flight,
no ripple disturbs still seas.

But come, O singer, and lift
   my heart and my head I bow,
   for songs have I heard enow
to know, be thankful for your gift

that enchants, enchains and heals
   my heart, that makes it leap
   with wondering joy to reap
your melodies breaking woe’s seals.

Lift up my lips to praise
   you, lift up my eyes to wonder,
   stopper my ears to all thunder
seeking to darken all days.

Lift up my hands to build
   a fitting shrine, or make
   a votive gift, or shape
and chase my heart with gilt.

Lift up my feet, so to dance
   or to wander the world and shed
   word of your beauty, to spread
word of your fame. And glance

lightly upon me, your slave
   ever since first that I heard
   your songs, ashaming all birds,
that will last till I lie in my grave.

Thessalian one, may my heart
   be worthy to worship your beauty,
   for worship is my sacred duty,
as it is to bless your name with art.

Thessalian one, may my soul
   be worthy to burn as fire,
   to flame as your words that inspire
me, flare as the flame of a coal.

Thessalian one, make me see
   that your songs that you sing are divine,
   they’re exquisite and wonderfully fine,
they save me from being dree,

and only feeble words
   in feeble lines and verses
   could end in failure, accursed
as tongueless and songless birds.

So sing, Thessalian one,
   enchant my heart with your song,
   sing me right and no wrong,
sing until singing is done.

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