My Daughter From Eurasia
So high I am on acid, so drunk and falling down: O, Eurasia!
Intoxicating cider from faithful Alma Ata -
grandfather and grandmother apple of the Kazakhstan!
O, fair one! The orchards of your soul!
Hesperides!
Maid of Inis-Avalon!
The spray of your hair and the plumule of your sleeping eyes!
Intermixing of elixirs of the sov’reign fruits, liquor
smoke, and tablets of wandering religions, where
Buddhists from Cathay rejoiced with wand’ring Christianity!
Peaceful science, cultivars resplendent!
The Blessed Isles!
Learned, curious, romantic!
Astronomy of your beauty and music of your voice!
--
notes
My attempt to out-Coleridge Coleridge.
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