Bride from the Spring

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  • Fantasy

    Bride from the Spring

    A young traveler settled in the woods
    His journey not done, yet hardly begun.
    He stopped to rest in a shady acre
    A circle of sunlight cascading down.
    He looked around the vast expanse of green
    When his sight affixed upon a flower,
    A purple rose sitting just above a
    Log covered in toadstools. He moved closer
    To the weed, having never in his life
    Seen anything so beautiful as it.
    His hand caressed the delicate petals,
    His nose sniffed the tantalizing fragrance.
    “I shall pluck it and take it home with me,”
    Thought he, enraptured. Then heard he a voice,
    A voice so pure, so beautiful and dear
    It said “Who is it? Is somebody there?”
    The boy startled, charming though the words were.
    The voice spoke again, “Do not be alarmed.
    I do not wish you to leave. Pray, stay now.
    I would love to have some new company.”
    He traced the voice to the spring, where he passed
    By so many times as a child, but was
    Asked not to go near, so as not to vex
    The spirits that resided in the trees.
    He parted the hanging willow, and what
    Did his eyes gaze upon but a maiden
    Bathing in the spring, its pristine waters.
    Her fair skin smoother than silk or marble,
    Glistening with the sunlight that shone through.
    Her jet black hair entwined with weeds of green.
    Her lips a red rose, blooming at a kiss.
    Her eyes an icy blue, calm like the spring.
    Yet when he gazed upon her his eyes fixed
    Upon her Plexiglas wings, transparent
    And glossy, shimmering with the water.
    “Hark!” cried the nomad, falling on his knees.
    “Never in my young years did I ever
    Imagine I’d gaze upon thee! Now all
    My cherished memories up until now
    Have been rendered cheap trifles by this day!
    Thou art a daughter of Titania, no?”
    The nymph bowed. “Indeed, fair mortal. I am
    One of those winged guardians of this
    Forest, the earthmother of us all! I
    Reside amidst the trees with my siblings,
    Spotting any mortal who ventures by,
    Deciding whether to blow him a kiss,
    Or a curse. We are well-concealed from sight.
    One may even look right at us without
    Spotting us. I am of the faerie race!”
    The youth heaved a heavy sigh. “As a child
    I have heard tales about thee and thy race!
    Every night, my mother would tuck me in
    And tell me tales of the spirits and sprites
    Who lived out of human sight! I see that
    You are cleansing in this spring. Let me close
    These willows and we shall continue our
    Conversation anon.” To which the nymph
    Responded, “No! You shall not leave my sight.
    You see, I have grown up far from humans,
    Knowing as little of your race as you
    Of mine. If you gaze upon me in awe,
    I gaze on you in dire fascination!
    I wish to speak with you more, to know more
    About your kind. Tell me stories worthy
    Of the pens of the Greeks long, long ago.”
    The traveler shook like a boy smitten,
    Young enough to be one himself. “Fair elf,
    Would that I was worthier to cavort
    In your company. Pray, tell me your name.”
    “Quite. I am Coraline, a mere nymph, not
    The spirit of aught in particular;
    This wood is my home, though I suppose home
    Is anywhere for such a lowly nymph
    As me. But, pray, tell me, what is your name?”
    The nomad bowed. “You may call me Ian.
    I am lowly too (though you not so much,
    Seeing as I am but a mere mortal);
    I travel from town to town, hoping to
    Get work, though I have not chosen a trade.
    A pitiable predicament, this,
    Though I am a small human, you a nymph,
    A spirit of the woods. The chains that hold
    Me down do not impede thee horribly.”
    “Oh, thou mortal, how misguided thou art,”
    Replied the fairy. “My sadness is worse,
    For our tears are in the rain, our bliss in
    The sun, our tantrums in the wind. But stop!
    What is that flower thou carries with you?
    That purple rose! And how came you by it?”
    Ian held it out. “I found it, nothing
    More. At the time it was the most lovely
    Thing I had seen or touched (though now thou has
    Passed it) that I just had to pluck it from
    Its branch. Forgive me for disturbing it,
    But I must have it, at whatever cost.”
    But Coraline replied, “What red is this
    That brushes over my cheeks? Why, thou has
    Found my spirit flower. I see that you are
    Confused. Forgive me, and let me explain.
    Every nymph and faerie is matched to a
    Flower which bears their essence within it.
    There is no doubt about it; since thou has
    Found my flower and brought it to me, thou
    Are my one true and dear love! Come to me,
    My darling! Let me take you with me to
    My abode in the weeds, where you will live
    With me and no longer know pain, only
    Bliss and ecstasy reserved for us nymphs!”
    And so she grabbed him and kissed him, and flew
    Off to her home in the forest, far from
    Prying eyes, to take him as her lover
    And be his mystical bride, forever.

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    To have great poets there must be great audiences too.

    Walt Whitman, American Poet (1819-1892)

    spectrevampire’s Poems (9)

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