He departed in the night; his procession was followed By the two young sisters of the deceased sick man, Whither he had retired during his perils. Martha and Mary were they; now Martha was the one Who dispensed perfumes and ascribed blame to his zeal.
All were grieving; in vain Jesus said: "He is sleeping. O holy tear given to friendship! You were not abandonned to the winds! A diamond urn, with Seraphim leaning over it, Invisible to mortals, received it softly; Like a marvel, astonishing even to the Heavens, Carried you sparkling to the feet of the Eternal. A favorable look from the ever-open eye Touched the ineffable gift and caused it to shine, And the Holy Spirit, pouring forth his power upon her, Gave soul and life to the divine essence.
Just as the incense, which burns in the sun's rays, Changes into pure fire, a brilliant cherry-red, So was a white and growing form Seen to go up from the heart of the dazzling urn. A voice was heard which said: "Eloa!
All adorned in the sight of the watching Heavens She marched towards God like a bride to the Temple, Her beauteous brow, serene and pure like a beautiful lily, Raised the folds of an azure veil; Her hair, parted as with blond sprays, Lost in the mists of the air their soft waves, Just as a wandering comet is seen in the skies, Blending its gracious rays in the bosom of the night; A rose in the glimmers of the morning dawn Lacks the virginal blush of its fresh tint; And the moon, brightening the dense woods Fails to attain the sweetness of even one of its sweet looks.
Her wings were of silver; under a pale robe Her white foot by turns disclosed and hid itself, And her heaving breast, scarce perceived, Raised the contours of the heavenly film. She was both, a woman and a charming Angel; For the spirit people, a loving family, Near us, for us, prays and watches ever, Uniting pure essences in holy acts of love. Raphael the Archangel, when he came to Earth, Under the cradle of Eden retold this sweet mystery.
But none of these sisters whom God created for them Brought more joy to the heaven of the ever-happy. The burning Cherubim enveloped by six wings, The tender Seraphim, the gods of faithful loves, The Thrones, the Virtues, the Princes, the Fiery Ones, The Rulers, the Guardians, the Splendors, And the Pious Dreams, and the Holy Praises, And all the pure Angels, and all the great Archangels, And all that Heaven has of denizens, All simultaneously veiled by their golden wings, Lowered their foreheads right to her snow-white feet, And her sisters the Virgins, joined in a procession, Just as round the moon the evening fires are seen, Held hands and ran to see her.
Golden harps hung from the chaste girdles; And flowers which Nature can grow only in Heaven, Flowers not seen of a human summer, Abounded neath their hands like a heavy rain. Then did unequaled voices sing: "Happy the world to which her helpful steps are offered!
When she passes among the unhappy, A consoling spirit will spread over them. What globe awaits her steps? What age demands her? Will other heavens see birth, that she may command them? One day How can we give the name of "day" To that which knows nor flight nor return? Defying the poverty of human tongues, Eternity conceals itself from our intelligence, And for us to understand one of these brief instants, We must seek a name for them among the Times One day the inhabitants of the immortal empire, Who once were careless, united to counsel her: "Eloa," they said, "Oh, be very careful: An angel can fall: the most beautiful of us all Is here no longer.
Yet in his initial virtue He was called the light-bearer; For he carried love and life in every place, He carried God's orders to the stars, The Earth consecrated his matchless beauty By calling the morning star Lucifer , A radiant diamond which the Sun had placed On his vermilion brow amidst his golden hair. Yet now, 'tis said, he is bereft of diadem, He groans, he is alone, none love him, Of crime the blackness weighs upon his eyes, No longer does he know the tongue of Heaven, And death resides in the words of his mouth.
He burns what he sees, he withers what he touches, He senses not evil or good deeds; Joyless is he at the ills which he has done. Heaven where once he lived is troubled by his memory, No angel will dare tell you his story, No Saint would dare ever to utter his name. They thought that Eloa would curse him; but no, Fear did not change at all her untroubled face, And this was an alarming omen for Heaven. Not to tremble was her first impulse, But rather to draw near as it were to help; Sadness appeared on her icy lip As soon as a sad thought offered itself; She learned to dream, and her innocent face Fell blushing at this unknown trouble.
A tear shone on her eyelid. Happy the heart whose first tear is thus shed! This Angel had those troubles which pester oft our days And pursue the great in their illustrious course; But amid the banquets, among the multitude A man who sighs finds solitude; The noise of Nations, the noise made by Kings, Nothing extinguishes in his heart a stronger voice.
Harps of Paradise, you had no wonders! Live chariots with shining eyes The Lord's armor, the lodges of the holy place, The stars of the shepherds, falling from the fingers of God, The sapphires of the censers, the gold of the heavenly dome, The delights of the harp, the spice-boxes for cinnamon, Your harmonious sounds, your splendors, your perfumes Became importunate to this saddened Angel; The holy chants troubled her revery, For nothing satisfied her softened heart.
E'en when the Cherubim portrayed together Either Christ's acts or those of the Saints, And rehearsed to Heaven every new Mystery, Which simultaneously took place on Earth, The crib offered to the sight of the foreign Magi, The family in the desert, the obeisance of the shepherds— Eloa stepped back from the divine spectacle, Away from their crowd, far from the brilliant Tabernacle, She sought out some obscure cloud Where she might at least freely dream.
The Angels have nights just as humans do. There is in Heaven a pure spring Whose sparkling water runs there on cherry-red sand; When an Angel draws it, he sleeps, but with a sleep Whose solitary charm the best-loved Of earthly lovers would not forgo Even to see again sleeping next to him The beauty using his arm as a pillow.
But in vain Eloa bathed in those waters, Her restless pain was too deep for them; Constantly at night she saw in a dream An unhappy Angel who begged her from afar.
Often the Virgins, to grasp her pain, Uttering a prayer tacit and vain, Surrounded her with care, adding only suffering, Asked what treasures they might offer her, What might be the price of her eternal life, If heavenly joys failed her desire: Why sought her gaze no longer The countenance of an Archangel or the Seraphim.
Eloa replied in a word: "None of them has need of him whom I console. He is said to be a However, alone one day, their timid companion Looked at the heavenly fields around her, Extended her wing, and smiled, took off, and in the air Sought her friendly Earth, or some barren stars. So in the forests of Louisiana, Cradled 'neath the bamboos and long vines, The humming bird breaks his sun-ripened egg And leaves his flowery bed.
A green emerald crowns his head, The purple of the wings on his back is already there, An azure breastplate adorns his young heart, And he departs to struggle victoriously with the breezes. In places connected to the light he flaunts His feathers which abhor the dust; This daring traveler visits the palm tree, Surprising the pigeon under its wild cover.
The perfumed plain is first to be abandoned; Ambitious, he flits from maple to ash And finds the desert for all his feasts In front of the palm-tree or in the arms of the cypress; But the woods are too big for his nascent wings, And the flowers of the cradle of these places are not there; He looks for them on the green savannah; The bird-catching snakes they can hide Scare him less than the dry forests. The capers hidden in their chaste prisons, The strawberries sweet-scented amid their lawns.
Similarly did Eloa, strong from birth, Passed the white road where undying fires Burned at the feet of God like a mass of altars. Sometimes she poised on two young planets, Sometimes she placed her feet on the surface of comets, In order to seek out beings born elsewhere.
Then she arrived at the bottom of the lowest Heavens. The Ether has its divisions of enormous size, Up to the perpetual shade where Chaos begins.
A pale, weak day fails to light up the mist Beneath it is Chaos and incomprehensible night, A bottomless, impalpable void appears. The pure Spirits, children of light, Reach not unto the last of these three regions, And never would a beautiful Seraph wander Onto those confused divisions of which Hell is last.
E'en the Cherubim, so strong and dutiful, Fear the impure air may fail beneath their wings, Afraid they may be forced, in this their risky flight, To fall to th' bottom of shadowy Chaos. What would become of such a defenseless exile? The perpetual offense of demon laughter, Their words, their mocking play, would redden his cheek. Yet greater peril! Mayhap he needs must hear Some smooth and tender farewell song, Some celestial regret, a sad canticle, Sung sweetly by an unhappy Angel.
His ear being touched by the sound, He even might forget his heavenly home, Find satisfaction in this Night, a liking For the songs and pity which joined them. Indeed, how could he ever go back to the azure vault, Presenting to the glaring, golden light His tousled, tarnished locks, Drab wings; arms, neck yellowish-brown, A pale visage strangely streaked, Amid the serene countenances of the dwellers of the clouds?
What of the eyes whose redness betrays their having wept? What of the feet still black with pestiferous fire? This is why the Angels of these places, Ever prudent, ever wise, dread those paths. Even so, the Virgin Eloa rested there Fearless 'neath the somber vapors: Unflustered was she when she saw her power And the novel good effects of her presence. Some punished worlds appeared reprieved; The globes stopped to hear her fly.
Ah comme je souhaiterais que tu voies tout ce que je vois de ces jours ci. Surtout parceque je sens que cela deviendra un peu mieux que le dernier envoi.
Je crains de te surcharger toi et pourtant je voudrais commander bien pour deux cents francs de couleurs et de toiles et de brosses. As tu des nouvelles de Gauguin. Donc il est certes bien libre. Il y en aura toujours qui auront le desir de voir le midi. Enfin si tout marche pour le mieux tout le monde ne manquera pas de faire de grands progres et moi aussi.
Poignee de main et. You know this round bush already, since you already have a study of the garden. The bush is a variegated green, slightly tinged with bronze, the grass is very, very green, Veronese tinged with lemon, the sky is very, very blue.
The line of bushes in the background are all raving mad oleanders. Never did she waver, her energetic performance resounding with confident luster and grace. Overall, her notes shone like a strand of pearls. Opera Wire, Lois Silverstein. Snouffer, as starlet-Barbie-doll Romilda, has everything you could want in a Handel diva. Financial Times, Shirley Apthorp. Snouffer has the voice and the attitude to grow into a memorable Lulu. She played the temptress with delicious abandon, feline grace and a light, clear soprano that rose easily to coloratura.
These examples may contain rude words based on your search. These examples may contain colloquial words based on your search. Translation of "furieusement belle" in English. Even if I mean, like, " crazy good. Suggest an example.
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