Summerqueen

It is not because of her warmth that she is queen of the summer,
Because her hair is black, more the color of autumn's leaves.
But it is for the sun in her soul that I adore and love her.
It is for the sight of the soul in her eyes that my soul always grieves.

It is not because she was the first and only one that I ever loved,
But she was the one who taught me what love can be and should.
She was the one who, on a morning when the summer sun above
Blazed and scattered its light turned to emerald through the wood,

I saw her running there, wild as a swan on the expanse of grass.
Wild as a hind, she almost fled when I called out her name.
I do not know how her eyes should have been a looking glass.
I do not know how I knew what to call her, or how the flame

That sprang up and linked us, came to be. I had not really loved then.
I was not one who thought I would ever learn of love's lightning,
The powerful force that springs blinding in beauty from fate's pen,
The force that is so powerful it is, in the end, almost frightening.

But oh, my summerqueen! I have not spoken her name aloud,
Save on nights when the loneliness sears and pours through my soul.
And even then it is a whisper, not the sound free and proud
Which I spoke to her on the last day I would ever be whole.

She halted and looked at me, and for a moment then I faltered.
She was half-wild in eyes, queen of summer, her eyes green and gold.
But she smiled, and spoke my own name, and my fear was haltered
By the same force that had arrested in her bright eyes that spirit old.

We were together only a short time, as the world measures years,
And we were together all the long summer's endless golden hours.
I was back before I wanted to be, weeping out my soulful tears,
And yet somehow still we are running among the honey-golden flowers

Of that first day, when I forgot for the first time the meaning of time's duty,
And even what it was to be myself, under the gaze of her wild eyes.
She taught me not only the meaning of love, but also the meaning of beauty,
And I knew that in those days was the time when I have been most truly wise.

Of that first day, there was sunshine, and green-gold leaves to shatter the heart.
There was the gentle touch of her fingers, frozen tapping on my wrist
As I turned to the brook from which she had seen a blue-green bird start,
And watched a kingfisher vanish in a spray of gleaming sunstricken mist.

And then we parted, me and my summerqueen, because we knew the last day.
We woke up, and gazed into each other's eyes, and the force was frightening.
We both started up, stared at each other once more, and then ran away.
We who had been linked by sunshine and storm feared the lingering lightning.

Since then, I have loved, and yet it has ever been only a pale shadow of fate.
I cannot bring myself to search for her, though I do with each breath I breathe
In the sense that every woman I look at I compare with my summermate,
The summerqueen who taught me more of beauty and love than I want to believe.

The sun pours across the page in stripes of honey as I write these words.
It is summer again, and the season stings my eyes with tears of love and joy.
I listen to the flowers and the ringing songs of the flitting honey-gold birds,
And feel, for a moment, almost transported back to that innocent boy.

A knock on the door has shattered my reminiscences of my summerqueen,
And though I would prefer to sit here and meditate on the summer,
I must rise and see who stands here in this perfect morning of golden-green.
I cannot forsake, even now, the forsaken thought that someday it may be her.

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I should have known, because the morning smells of lightning though so fine,
And the leaves are swaying that perfect mixture of emerald and sweetest green.
Joy and beauty are again pouring through me like the sweetest summerwine,
And I am gone back to what is and was, by the side of my sweet summerqueen.