Holy Heavens

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Hereafter, in Elysium

by crystal streams with mossy banks

and shady groves around

there apple trees and grapevines

and virgins too abound.

Where no rain falls

or mist or cloud intrudes

and time stands still or dances on

according to our moods.

And as we proceed through pleasure

our shining shadows tingle-

no, tinkle in the breeze,

the stupendous and the intake of breath

are both so close to hand

which incredibly, delightfully also

clasps a magic wand.

Authority takes no hold here

there is no sorrow either, too

I wonder what in heaven

we are ever meant to do.

How wonderful, how terrible

how simply ice-cold blue.

It may be so here now already

and we who misconstrue.


 

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