In Praise of the Heavens and the Spheres

When the turner's hand of power scattered from the glass vial pure amber over the white face of camphor, the sky, that magician, drew from beneath its cup a thousand silver pawns with a sorcerer's sleight of hand. To adorn and beautify the veiled ladies of the sky, time opened the musk pod and the heavens spread their perfume. For contemplation and thought in the holy stations, I pressed my steps forward, past even priceless reason. In the expanse of each sphere I saw a royal realm; within each tier, the seat of a lofty governor. Dwelling in the seventh dome I saw an aged one, high in rank, strong of frame, and grandly cloaked. From him the world took the rite of robe and belt, and from him the meadow drew its power to grow and bloom. Atop the sixth arch, a ruler of blessed face, not like the judges of our age, but a judge of truth and honesty. Fortunate of countenance, lucky of destiny, blessed of omen, auspicious of star, favored of counsel, happy of look. As prince of the fifth region I saw a warrior, his hand dyed in blood, his head full of the din of battle. His cutting sword tears down the foundations of hope; his unruly spear brings ruin even to lasting life. The throne of the fourth, a place fit for a king, greater than Caesar, the emperor of China, Hormoz, and Darius: I found it empty of any governor, void of a king's memory, yet his army stood at attention before the throne. Above it an idol of a thousand coquetries and charms, heart-stealing like beautiful lovers and the dolls of Cathay. At times with a spellbinding pluck it struck the harp's strings, at times it took the cup of red wine in hand. As lord of the court in the second hall, I saw a fine accountant, rich in wisdom and wit, strong in competence, subtle in thought, far-sighted, gentle of mind, sweet of tongue, and a teller of clever points. The festival crescent shone forth from the first sphere, from the edge of the Milky Way, like amber against straw.