More Phoenix I

A little bit more before I go home for the holidays--

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There are no hated foes there in that land,
neither weeping nor pain, no grief-signs at all,
old age nor misery nor the goading of death,
neither the life’s losing nor the hateful coming,
no sin nor strife nor sore-wrack’s knife,
not the struggle of poverty nor the want of prosperity,
not sorrow nor sleep nor the sad grave—
neither storming snow nor change of weather,
harsh under the heavens, nor the stern frosts,
with icicles cold and chilly crashes down upon any. (50-59)

There neither hail nor frost falls to the earth,
nor windy cloud; no waters tumble down there,
troubled by the breeze, but there streams of water,
wondrously intricate, springs forth in wells,
in fair surgings of flood. The ground is slaked
with winsome waters from the midst of the woods.
Then every month from the turves of the earth
they break forth sea-cold, cross every grove,
gloriously at times. That is the order of the Lord:
that twelve times a year that majestic land
overflows with the delights of watery floods. (60-70)