She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
Byron's celebration of the dusky beauty speaks to me now.
Dusk reminds me, too, of the echoes of a peacock in the early evening of a southern forest as night silently approached. The crisp winter skies were ablaze with stars and there lay Orion in its fiery glory and the Milky Way stretched its wispy trails of across the sky. I wish I’d reached out heavenwards then.
Sweet fire of love
For you I'd steal the stars
'Cause I adore you, o my morena
My thoughts on an Appalachian hillside in summer are well reflected in John Dowlands descriptive
All the earth, all the air
Of love and pleasure speaks,
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
And mix our souls in mutual bliss.
On this day I celebrate you Scarlett, and raise a toast to a woman of unparalleled passion, beauty, grace, wit and intellect.
Happy Birthday to my Portuguese.
