I found these typewritten poems the Hymn to Diana and Hymn to the Sun in a pile of papers at the Santee Memorial Library and Covenstead of the Coven of the Catta decades ago. I am not sure what unknown bard wrote them but I like them. The Hymn to the Sun is rather erotic and represents the yearning we all feel this time of year for the Sun as it continues to decrease in the northern hemisphere. We already yearn for his return. Enjoy and Blessed Be.
How shall I, The Poet, sing the praises of Winter?
What virtues are there to extol?
Are ice, sleet, bitter cold,
and naked trees joyous things?
The only emotion that winter brings to mind is hope.
While walking through the eldritch beauty
of a winter landscape,
I shiver and huddle,
chilled by the iciness in my heart.
I am warmed only by the hope
that you will bring the Spring of Love,
again, to an ice-bound soul.
Memories of warmth,
Of summer’s love,
Walking through meadows of pine forests,
are but torments, not comforts.
Come again to me, Goddess of Love,
Let me return, at least briefly,
in a dream if need be,
To your summer warmth.
I long to run, naked, beneath the Sun,
and feel the kiss of thy breath.
Comfort comes now,
With the knowledge,
The death of winter, the hag, will soon come,
and again we will be together,
My Love . . . . . .
Hymn to the Sun
I awoke this morning ere
the light’s dawning birth,
And saw the earth awaiting
that light and warmth,
Like a lover awaiting her love,
Expectant . . . Hesitant . . .
Like it will never happen,
yet glorying in the
sweetness of expectancy.
The mists hover and hang in the pines,
As the threads of fate and time
Hang in the balance for lovers.
Will the lovers meet?
Will their love be fulfilled?
It is yet a waking love, of small things,
The greatness and fertility
is yet to be.
As the earth waits, expecting its love,
My phallic pen makes love to the virgin paper,
Spilling it’s ink-sperm, on and over,
Violating the purity of it,
yet fulfilling it’s purpose,
giving it being,
breeding a bastardy of verse.
As I like the paper, and the earth,
Await the awakening of my lover,
To meet, love, conceive,
and give birth to a new day.
Now the earth quickens,
as her Sun-Lover approaches,
The birds, hymn singers,
begin the nuptial music.
The folds of her body,
The hills and valleys covered by green pubic-grass,
are damp with the love juices of dew.
The Earth-Mother sits and awaits
The first thrust of the Sun-Father,
With the thoughts of this wanted love, hesitantly,
Awaiting her virginity to be violated.
Night maid, Luna
Lesbian lover of the night,
Steals away, fades from sight,
by father-sun’s brightness.
Now quietly, the night creatures,
attendants of the lesbian Luna,
hide from the brilliance
of the earth’s true lover.
The hymn of the birds grow louder.
His maleness draws closer yet.
The earth quakes.
The day creatures,
after the night of quivering fearful sleep,
begin the preparation to welcome
the sun lover.
Sun-Lover begins his ritual of
golden caresses and kisses
On cold expectant Earth . . .
Now slowly, the men and women,
Children of previous lovings,
begin to stir.
The lamps of the houses,
nestled in the folds of the mother,
gleam in feeble paean to the
sun, father, lover.
The earth mother is now warm, now hot,
Ready for the first thrust
of her lover’s golden lance of light.
Ready to shiver in delightful orgasm
But, yet he hesitates.
She is not brought to a final peak,
Ready for the first mighty lunge.
The earth awaits yet awhile,
Knowing her lover is near,
her body bursting with energy,
covered with love dew.
As I await,
I hear the stirrings and preparations
Of my lover for the dawn’s loving,
in feeble imitation of nature’s
labor of creation.
I hear the footsteps of my love
on the stair,
As the orange footsteps of the earth’s lover are seen over the green-blue horizon.
I rejoice in expectation as does the earth.
My lover is close at hand
As I begin the ritual of caresses and kisses
that prelude the act of creation.
As the sun kisses and caresses the earth,
We both, Sun and I,
Glory in the perfection of the body spread before us . . .
Now she is ready for my maleness,
As the earth is,
Awaiting the golden thrust of the sun,
To bring the orgasm of creation.
Now as the sun-lover first plunges
his golden light into the earth’s folds,
I meet with my lover’s body, risen,
Risen from the floor to meet mine.
More rods of light penetrate,
and violate the virgin earth,
As the serious business of creation
is now underway.
The earth joys in the
first throes of orgasm,
As my lover’s body trembles as well.
The earth is now fulfilled.
Her purpose of creation is come about
As a new day is birthed.
Light’s sperm is spattered
all over the earth,
As new ideas and beings are born,
We are now in the softness and warmth
of a new day,
As we reflect on the wonder of creation,
And already anticipate,
because we know that
This wondrous loving will occur,
Forever . . . .