Ode To Alade. Poem by peter adeleke

O Alade, most beautiful and fair,

With an eye, like the mustard seed;

Come, like an echo upon the mid-night air,

To the field, where the cattle feed.



Waddle and slumber till the morning light,

O my sweet and pleasant maiden;

Thou art like a twinkle-star 'mid the night,

O maiden of radiant token.



Upon thy countenance, no dirt, no dust,

No fret, nor furrowed with melee;

When the night uncloses a chilly gust,

Let me warm thee and cover thee.


Thy skin's gay, like the daffodils in spring,

And like an e'ergreen oleander;

O my comely queen, let me be the king,

Of thine heart, so meek and tender.



In the dark hours, 'pon thy chest, let me lay,

Like a child 'pon his mother's chest;

Let me slumber to see another day,

When the sun rises from the crest.



Lay down, my dear one, upon the meadow,

Where the flowers and crops grow tall,

Lo! When the virgin dawn upon us glow;

Let all be all, and love be all.



Alade, thy face, clear as drops of dew,
And thy palms, warm as summer's rose;

Thy lofty frame, decked by enthralling hue,
And thine hairs, black as lump of coals.


My beloved, smear thy hands above my head,

And let thy red-lips clung to mine,

And into my mouth, put a crumb of bread;

A crumb of bread, with crimson wine.


Thy garment allures, like coin of diamond,

And the stride of thy naked feet,

Surpassing charmingly, and kindly fond;

Like the plants on the meadowsweet.



Thy toes supple upon the pleasant land,

And on each path thou
have trodden,
Give thy hand to me, to me give thy hand;

My pleasant and comely maiden.



To a place of comfort, O come to my house,

When the silvery moon is crescent;

Grace my pillow, my cradle, O my spouse,

With thy garment of fragrant scent.


Thy voice, sweetly sounds like a golden bell,

Of softly and echoeing sound;
shall I compare thee to a blue speedwell?

Nor gay grasses that clothe the ground?



Let me take thee to where the stars sing,

Serenely sweet song for lovers,
O my lovely queen, let me be thy king;

Thy garden of cluster-clovers.


THE END.