Pearl (2 page)

B
eautiful pearl that would please a prince,

fit to be mounted in finest gold,

I say for certain that in all the East

her precious equal I never found.

So radiant and round, however revealed,

so small, her skin so very smooth,

of all the gems I judged and prized

I set her apart, unparalleled.

But I lost my pearl in a garden of herbs;

she slipped from me through grass to ground,

and I mourn now, with a broken heart,

for that priceless pearl without a spot.

And in that spot where it sprang from me

I've often watched, wishing for the one

that drove away sorrow, lightened my load,

roused my spirits and rallied my health.

Loss and longing lean on my heart

and my breast burns with the heat of the hurt;

yet no song was ever as sweetly sung

as the silent moments that stole me away

on the many occasions she came to mind.

To think of her colour, now clad in clods …

oh black soil, you blot and spoil

my precious pearl without a spot.

Spices must thrive and spread in that spot

where rot and ruin enrich the soil;

blooms of white and blue and red

turn shining faces towards the sun.

Flower and fruit could never fade

where my pearl entered the dark earth;

grasses must grow from lifeless grains

or wheat would never be brought to the barn.

For goodness out of goodness is born,

and such a seed couldn't fail to root

nor splendid spices sprout and shoot

from that precious pearl without a spot.

I went to the spot my words describe,

entered the garden green with herbs

in the month of August on holy day,

when corn succumbs to the sharpened scythe.

That pearl had rolled away from a mound

where brightly lit plants cast bold shadows:

ginger, gromwell and gillyflower

with peonies scattered in between –

such a sweet scene for the eye to see,

made fairer by fragrances floating up …

I believe and know where that lovely one lives,

my precious pearl without a spot.

In that same spot I clasped my hands,

wholly overcome by the coldness of sorrow.

A desolating grief had gripped my heart

when reason could have put my mind at rest.

I pined for my pearl in its earthen prison

and fierce thoughts fought back and forth;

though the nature of Christ offered me comfort

my wretched desire writhed in despair.

Among those flowers I fell to the floor,

my senses suddenly swamped by scent,

and sank into heavy sleep on the ground

where my pearl was lost, on the same spot.

S
uddenly my spirit rose from that spot,

while in body I remained asleep on the mound,

and by God’s grace my spirit embarked

on a quest to where marvel and amazement happen.

I couldn’t say where I was in the world,

but my soul was set down where cliffs split the sky

and I turned my face towards a forest

where astounding stones astonished the eye:

no one would believe what light they lent,

what gleaming glory shone from them;

never on this earth did a human hand

weave cloth so exquisite in ornament.

Ornamenting the hills to every side

were crystal cliffs of the clearest form;

in and about stood bright coloured woods –

trees with trunks of Indian blue.

Layers of leaves like burnished silver

shivered and shook on every bough;

when clear daylight glided across them

they glinted and glimmered with a dazzling gleam.

The grinding gravel which crunched underfoot

was precious pearl of the Orient,

so even sunbeams seemed dark and dim,

outshone by opulent ornament.

The image of highly ornamented hills

made my spirit forget all feelings of grief.

The air was so fresh with the scent of fruit

it nourished and fed me as if it were food.

All shape and size of shimmering fowl

flocked and flew as one through the wood;

no stringed instrument making its sound

could mimic the glorious music they made:

when they beat their wings, out of those birds

came a song of heavenly harmony.

What person could hope for a pleasure more pure

than to hear and see their ornament?

Where rich ornament was arrayed all around

I followed as Fortune led me through a forest;

no tongue could tell of its true nature

for in beauty and wonder it went beyond words.

In a state of ecstasy I strolled along,

no bank high enough to prove a barrier.

Flowers were fairer the further I went,

among sedges, shrubs, spices and pears,

hedges, wetlands and splendid streams

with steep slopes like spun gold,

and arrived at the shore of a winding river,

overwhelming, oh Lord, in its ornament.

At the water's edge, ornamenting its depths,

were bountiful banks of bright beryl.

The surface swirled as it swept by,

pouring forward, murmuring as it flowed.

And the bed was studded with brilliant stones,

glinting and glowing like light through glass,

as radiance streams from distant stars

in the winter sky while the world sleeps.

Because every pebble set into that pool

was an emerald or sapphire or another jewel;

the river looked luminous along its length

so gleaming were those gem-like ornaments.

T
he ornamented dazzle of downs and dales,

of wood and water and splendid meadows

infused me with bliss, eased my burdens,

soothed my sorrows and dispelled my hurt,

and I followed that freely flowing stream,

light-headed with elation, alive with joy.

Venturing further through brook-filled valleys

my spirit gained strength with every step;

when Fortune puts a person to the test

by offering solace or ordering suffering

the person she turns her attention towards

finds more of either pleasure or pain.

There was more splendour displayed in that scene

than time would ever allow me to tell,

and a human heart could hardly hold

one tenth of the rapturous gladness it aroused.

I felt, therefore, that Paradise itself

must be there beyond those broad banks,

and supposed the stream a border of sorts,

a dividing line through lovely lands,

and that somewhere over the shore of the brook

I would find the site of its walled city.

The water was deep and I didn't dare wade,

but more and more I longed to cross.

That longing mounted, till more than ever

I desired to see beyond the stream,

and though it was wonderful here where I walked

it appeared more wonderful over the water.

I stopped and stared, surveyed my surroundings,

impatient to find a fording place,

but the dangers were great, and grew greater

the further I strayed along the strand.

I told myself not to hesitate,

to fear no harm in those happy acres,

but a curious image now caught my eye

which moved my mind more and more.

A more marvellous matter amazed me now:

beyond that beautiful water I witnessed

a crystal cliff, brilliantly bright,

radiant with glorious gleaming rays,

and seated at the foot of that summit was a child,

a noble girl, a young woman of grace,

wearing a gown of iridescent white.

And I knew her so well – I had seen her before.

Like sawn gold that glistens inside

she sat at the base of the cliff, and she shone.

I stared, astonished, and the longer I looked

the more I recognised and remembered her.

The more I focused on her fine face

and gazed in awe at her graceful form,

waves of exultant emotion overwhelmed me

with a force like nothing I'd felt before.

Love encouraged me to call out her name

but shock had sent a hammer-blow to my soul;

to see her there, in such strange surroundings

had stunned my senses, almost stopping my heart.

Then she lifted her head towards the light,

and her face was so fine and ivory-white

that its wonder stung me. I stood there bewildered,

as if mesmerised for evermore.

M
ore in alarm than out of longing

I stood spellbound, unable to speak,

my eyes transfixed but my tongue frozen,

as hushed and watchful as a hawk in a hall.

This appearance, I thought, is an apparition,

and fear held me: how would I feel

if the vision before me vanished from view

without contact or closeness occurring between us?

Oh blissful one, oh unblemished soul,

so flawless, fragile, so flatteringly slender.

Then she rose up in resplendent robes,

a precious being in priceless pearls.

Priceless pearls, imperially worn,

were a marvellous sight, a miracle to the eye,

her figure as vivid as fleur-de-lys

as she walked forward towards the water.

Her fine linen shone luminously white,

open at the sides, every hem stitched

with fabulous pearls – more stunning by far

than any my eyes had fixed on before.

And if memory serves, her flowing sleeves

were adorned with pearls set down in pairs,

and her matching gown glowed like morning,

proudly apparelled with priceless pearls.

That princess wore a priceless crown

studded with pearls and no other stones,

pure clear pearls arranged in pinnacles

among figures of expertly fashioned flowers.

She wore no other circlet or headdress

but her wimple fully encircled her face,

her expression as earnest as a duke or earl,

her complexion whiter than the bone of a whale.

Loosely hanging, her hair lay lightly

around her shoulders, shining like spun gold,

and the almost transparent paleness of her pallor

compared well with those priceless pearls.

Her priceless wristband and the pretty hems

at her collar, cuffs and open neck

were lined with pearls and pearls alone;

everything she wore was wondrously white.

But one pearl especially took pride of place,

burnished and unblemished, positioned at her breast:

the man who attempted to imagine its magnitude

would find himself flummoxed, his mind befuddled.

In truth, no tongue could ever tell

a sensible syllable about that stone,

so clean and proud and clear and pure,

unparalleled even among priceless pearls.