Wednesday, May 25, 2011


My head is full tonight. I had a wonderful experience earlier this evening and am still high on the energy. I feel like this waning moon is helping to release that which does not serve. It's been a clarifying moon and I hope to be ready to take things to the next step when She is waxing once again.
I feel like a bit of the pretty tonight, so I'm going to post a bit of poetry by an Italian (ok so he's only half Italian, but I like him so just go with it...), Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Astarte Syriaca
MYSTERY: lo! betwixt the sun and moon
Astarte of the Syrians: Venus Queen
Ere Aphrodite was. In silver sheen
Her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon
Of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune:
And from her neck's inclining flower-stem lean
Love-freighted lips and absolute eyes that wean
The pulse of hearts to the spheres' dominant tune.
Torch-bearing, her sweet ministers compel
All thrones of light beyond the sky and sea
The witnesses of Beauty's face to be:
That face, of Love's all-penetrative spell
Amulet, talisman, and oracle,—
Betwixt the sun and moon a mystery.

Fior Di Maggio
Oh! May sits crowned with hawthorn-flower,
And is Love's month, they say;
And Love's the fruit that is ripened best
By ladies' eyes in May

AFAR away the light that brings cold cheer
Unto this wall,—one instant and no more
Admitted at my distant palace-door.
Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear
Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here.
Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey
That chills me: and afar, how far away,
The nights that shall be from the days that were.
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign:
And still some heart unto some soul doth pine,
(Whose sounds mine inner sense is fain to bring,
Continually together murmuring,)—
“Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpina!”   

Sonnet XX: Gracious Moonlight

Even as the moon grows queenlier in mid-space
When the sky darkens, and her cloud-rapt car
Thrills with intenser radiance from afar,—
So lambent, lady, beams thy sovereign grace
When the drear soul desires thee. Of that face
What shall be said,—which, like a governing star,
Gathers and garners from all things that are
Their silent penetrative loveliness?
O'er water-daisies and wild waifs of Spring,
There where the iris rears its gold-crowned sheaf
With flowering rush and sceptred arrow-leaf,
So have I marked Queen Dian, in bright ring
Of cloud above and wave below, take wing
And chase night's gloom, as thou the spirit's grief                                                              

Venus Verticordia
She hath the apple in her hand for thee,
Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;
She muses, with her eyes upon the track
Of that which in thy spirit they can see.
Haply, "Behold, he is at peace," saith she;
"Alas! the apple for his lips, - the dart
That follows its brief sweetness to his heart, -
The wandering of his feet perpetually!"

A little space her glance is still and coy,
But if she give the fruit that works her spell,
Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.
Then shall her bird's strained throat the woe foretell,
And her far seas moan as a single shell,
And through her dark grove strike the light of Troy


I would absolutely love it if the readers out here would post their favorite poems. No need for it to be specifically Pagan, or Italian, I'm of a mood tonight and want to enchanted with words!


  1. Okay not really a poem but hopefully fitting...

    The Raven is the Teacher Symbol. also Signifying the Beginning or End.

    In the Aridian Tradition, the Raven is both a messenger and a god. The Raven symbolizes secret and hidden knowledge, and is the protector and revealer of Occult Wisdom. The call of the Raven alerts one to the presence of a teaching, or a secret, which has been made available to the person who hears the Call. Some will pass on by, some will pause but for a moment, and some will answer...Lady Morgan

    Fortunately I answered in the early to mid 80s.

  2. La Fortuna

    A legend of the via de'cerchi

    "One day Good Luck came to my home, I begged of her to stay. There's no one loves you more then I, Oh, rest with me for aye, It may not be; it may not be, I rest with no one long, said she."

    "Witch Ballads," by Charles G. Leland.
    Legends of Florence