66. Ode to Love’s Sigh
By JH Sayyar
1
O softest breath from Cupid’s moistened bow,
Thou art no storm, yet stir leaf and soul—
A whisper born where hidden passions grow,
A murmur deep that reason can’t control.
Thy is the hush that follows longing’s flame,
A windless wave upon the heart’s wide sea;
No name thou need, for lovers speak thy name
With every glance and every reverie
2
Thou art the hush of moonlight on the skin,
The gasp that swells before the lips dare meet,
The hushed ache that dwelled deep within,
Where silence and surrender softly greet.
When Juliet leaned o’er her dim-lit sill,
Did not her breast rise with thy subtle tide?
When Helen wept by Troy’s embattled hill,
Was thou not near her, breathless at her side?
3
Thou speak in sighs where language cannot reach—
More than a groan, and gentler than a breeze;
A breath that bears what hearts alone may teach,
And writes in air the truth that none appease
Thou art the rose’s exhale at first light,
The lute-string's quiver ere the fingers play—
A fleeting thing, yet with immortal might,
That haunts the world when all else fades away.
4
O tender sigh, sweet herald of the flame,
That steals from lips where silence once did dwell,
Thy breath, though soft, doth passion loud proclaim,
And bears what words too bashful fear to tell.
Thou art the ghost of kisses yet unclaimed,
The hush that falls when hearts in silence speak;
The gentle breeze, by no proud tempest tamed,
That make strong the soul and yet is meek.
5
When fair Titania moaned in dreamy sleep,
Or Rosalind beneath the greenwood sighed,
It was thou who didst from love’s still chalice seep,
A draught where both delight and ache abide.
Thy wings are woven from the thinnest air,
Yet carry more than armies' march or cry—
For thou dost whisper what none else may dare,
The truth that dwells in a lover’s eye.
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