Celestial Parade

What is this virgin stillness lo,
that shakes the sleeping spell
from dormant eyes? What is this calm
repose that scales the fjeld
to herald dawn's advancing light?
What this tranquility -
supreme quiescence, paramount?
What this serenity,
embracing in its advent glow
the slumber of the earth,
whose eastern hills prepare to grant
the rising glory birth?
The long-awaited genesis
alights when day is born;
'tis only then I understand
the silence of the morn.

The sky is blue with winter - cloud-
less, pure sublime. The air
is quiet in a silent breath
of humble vigor. Sphere
within a sphere - the glorious sun
at lesser zenith warms
the frozen earth in mild thaw.
The light of noonday forms
a blinding spectacle: the white
ice crystal meadow gleams
and forests made of trees of glass
surround snow-water streams.
The mountains peak where colors meet
in age-old boundaries.
Horizons hide where heavens rest
behind the alpine frieze.

Transfigured hangs the firmament.
The haze of heaven's veil
divides to join the severed spheres
as evening aura trails
the mortal ivory flame's descent
through hosts of softened rays.
The uniform azure reveals
ethereal display:
sheer turquoise yields to sapphirine;
the day-star bleeds velour
that wraps through western silhouettes
with ribbons lavender.
Diffused in blush, the glory rests
with patience to ascend,
in sleep secure with promise sure
to rise and live again.