Mephisto: Grau, teurer Freund, ist alle Theorie,
Und grün des Leben goldner Baum.
Schüler: Ich schwör' Euch zu, mir ist's als wie ein Traum.
(Goethes Faust)
When the sun bathes green trees with gold
no one wonders why this color enchants us.
A golden bracelet or ring reminds of evenings
when the sun's raiment clothes us like gods.
Gold is the color of the dying day,
that precious precipice where
the sun shakes her amber tresses
and we, her struck lovers, pause
as the whole enamored room turns
to all shades of rose and warmth.
We love gold because it testifies
to the setting we all long for,
the setting we're working for,
the vital concern of this
living death or dying life.
We live for those Midas moments
whose alchemy and aura will
transfigure everything in sight
before we restfully settle
into our place in the horizon.
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