Realm of Jewels

It begins with gold.

There is the sunrise blowing in over the sea,
A golden burst into the enflamed sky,
Gold sparkling in rich turquoise eternity,
And arching in arches builded so high
That from the top one can other earths see.

It is a path of shimmering light on the swells.
It is the fish that shine in the water.
It is the distant song of the sweet temple-bells.
It is the robe of the realm-king's daughter.
It is the light's caress on bright crystal shells.

Next comes sapphire.

It is the shade of the waves as they wait,
Looking up in breathless wonder at the stars,
Washing in excitement as the sun opens the gate
And permits them a glimpse of silver shining afar
Before leaving them to a turquoise fate.

It is the color of the deep night sky.
It is the color of sea-buried jewels.
It is the color of the winds softly traveling by.
It is the color of the shore-captured tidepools.
It is the color of the kneeling maid's eye.

Then there is turquoise.

It shines in the sea as the sun slowly rises,
And flaps and splashes in shore-bound waves.
It has a sweetness that the drinker surprises,
For the sea is supposed to be where madness raves.
But this sweet jewel the bitterness of salt despises.

It is the color of the sunrise breakers.
It is the color of the rings on her hands.
It is the color of the robes of the chant-makers.
It is the color of the crabs on the sands.
It is the color of the trees, without takers.

Ah, there is diamond.

It whispers in little hushes on the shore,
Then shyly retreats to gleam and shine in the foam
Before being borne onward to land once more.
It sparkles and shimmers, a shining white poem
Of affection for the stars from which it tore.

It is the foam that so gently glimmers.
It is the stars as they are fading away.
It is the necklace that at her throat shimmers.
It is the sky as the dawn becomes day.
It is the color of the palace's hedge-trimmers.

And jade, too.

It lurks, clinging for moments, in the trees,
Retaining for a moment its nighttime green lordship
Over not only the palms but also the seas,
Which at times beneath stars it holds in wardship.
It cannot stand against brighter jewels like these.

It is the color of the palms' waving boughs.
It is the color of the seas' fading tides.
It is the color which to the sun bows.
It is the color that on her gown clings and hides.
It is the color of the olive on ships' prows.

And even ruby is there.

It rises in a burst behind the gold of the sun,
The phoenix's wings around the bright-burning head,
Then fades away in a ruddy blood-run,
Like the last wine-sweet gurgle of the dead.
It is a color that for only moments has fun.

It is the sky behind all the brightness.
It is the first light to touch the ocean.
It is the lower lip in her face's whiteness.
It is the purity of the sunrise's emotion.
It is the human heart that clenches in tightness.

And last, silver.

It chases about the sky, casts a filigree net
Over the world it does not want to leave.
The sunrise glares from a face gold and scarlet.
The moon and the stars with incomparable fairness grieve.
Don't make us leave, they whisper; not yet.

It is the stars as they bow to light.
It is the moon that struggles to stay.
It is the girl's laughter at the stars' plight.
It is the last shy trailing hem of the day.
It is the whispered reminder of night.

Day comes in the realm of jewels,
Sunrise flaring over sea's deeps and cools