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Denis Bezmelnitsin
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Serenade to Pauline Hoarau
O dweller of the Island Paradisiac,
For thee this chant, a waft of scent
From dales of moon profuse in tulips, lilies, bells
Concealed from vision, felt by heart...
'Mid sands of yellow luna is a hill,
Four winds made their mansions thereon;
Lone elm there shelters eastern breeze
Who sings a lullaby to his beloved, a song:
O gracious Peri, eyes of thine entranced
Me, filled with matin of the jocund birds;
Your accent French so quaint, so lovely, yet
Your beauty me bewitch'd, forgot
The course of time, of night and day vicissitude,
Romantic-breeze compose
Romances made of gossamer of moon,
And twilight shivering beam; at eve
He croons it to the neighbouring winds; Somehow
In France if ye shall be,
These rhymes recite to her, compound
Of lunar aspects - gift to sweet Pauline.
December 2017
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Bezmelnitsin's Gallery
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