New Summer Mixtape Series Launched!
A-side: Ballads and Songs by David Gosselin
Age of Muses is happy to announce mixtapes are back! This latest production inaugurates our new Poetry Mixtape series. A special thanks to Zina Gomez-Liss (who I chatted with during our recent Fireside Chat) for her stupendous essay on Mixtapes that Will Save Poetry. We’re thankful to all our readers and subscribers for their on-going support. We have a lot of transformative projects and audio-visual productions in the works, including a documentary, film and performance.
Our latest issue of New Lyre Magazine is days away. My new book, A Renaissance or New Middle Ages: Magic, Mystery and the Making of the West, will be published in June. Both will be fully accessible to our supporters.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this first of many Poetry Mixtapes for the summer season. The A-side offers a selection of ballads I composed over the years. The B-side will feature more philosophical and epic compositions.
Stay tuned for the B-side!
I Know Why the Red Rose Weeps
I know why the red rose weeps,
Why she hides her tears in dew,
As the summer breezes sweep
From those seas of peaceful blue,
And then like our dreams,
She fades with the morning dew.
I know why the red rose weeps
Through the dreamy months of June
As the golden breezes sweep
Over paling sea rocks, hewn
By Poseidon’s tide
As he guards the sailor’s tomb.
And I know why the red rose weeps
While birds sing their matin lay,
And a gentle zephyr sweeps
Our cares somewhere far away,
Where grasshoppers leap
And the careless children play.
I know why the red rose weeps
During dreary September,
As autumnal breezes keep
Music that is more sober,
And the pine sap seeps
Into lonesome October.
I know why the red rose weeps
Through the month of January
As the winter’s blizzard creeps
Through her sweet sanctuary,
And the summer’s cradle
Becomes her cemetery.
For when the rose parts with its petals
The scent of its dying breath
On fleeting breezes settles;
Seeing her beauty bereft,
Mixed with wind and brine,
Sweetens bitterness with death.
I know why the red rose weeps
When her buds have yet to see the day,
When soft beauty dreams and sleeps
Through the blooming month of May,
And morning frost still keeps
Our own wildest dreams at bay.
As when one can almost hear
The sun rays brightly dancing
Over fragrant fields of green,
With each new frond spreading
As winds softly pass
And the soaring skylarks sing,
So I know why the red rose weeps,
Why she hides her tears in dew,
As the golden breezes sweep
From those seas of peaceful blue,
And then like our dreams,
She fades with the morning dew.
Spring Lilacs
I.
One morning, I found lilacs in the rain:
The sun was mute, the birds had ceased their song,
The skies were dimmed by gaunt and graying clouds—
The lilacs shivered in the dawn.
Each one seemed too sweet to outlive the morn,
Thickening the air with its dying breath;
I thought of all the beauties May has borne—
How sweetly each one welcomes Death.
II.
How dreamy was the new spring day:
The streams like pristine angels sighed,
Winds swept the woods like Aeolian harps,
Only the lilacs seemed too shy.
Was mid-May’s sun not strong enough,
Or did the soft breeze come and whisper
Tidings of some approaching season—
Did she mention the coming of winter?
III.
I’ve once again wandered into the garden
Where I used to play as a little child
When a thousand flowery faces greeted me,
All of them lovely and wild.
The dreamy lavender serenely swayed,
Sending its fragrant kisses through the air,
Until the gentle breeze chased them away,
Like children laughing, free of care.
The shining dew dripped from the rose’s calyx,
Staining its crown of verdant sepals,
’Til May arrived with her brilliant rains
And spring gleamed in a thousand petals.
But of all the flowery faces I saw there,
These stood out more than all the others:
The vernal lilacs—ready to relinquish
Their breath amid the early hours.
Their fragrance stirred something deep in my soul
As I made my way through their flowery fane—
I felt something I’d never felt before
From those Lilacs in the rain.
For the soft spring-time showers now distilled
To an understanding that left me cold:
How even the sweetest of things must die
As our youth fades and we grow old.
And so I smile on this beautiful morning,
My teardrops falling through the perfumed air
As floods of sweet new faces welcome me
And sprightful birds trill everywhere.
The beauties of May welcome me once more,
And they flood my soul with a precious pain—
May the briefness of their beauty haunt me
Like those Lilacs in the rain.
Song: They Toil Not, Neither Do They Spin
They toil not, neither do they spin Mathew 6:28
They toil not, neither
Do they spin, these soulful sprites—
These sweet birds of song.
They toil not, neither
Do they spin, these brave songsters—
These faithful soldiers.
Like sprites in the day,
Hiding among trembling leaves,
Whispering like wind.
They sing in shadows,
Beneath the delicate blue,
Then flutter away.
They toil not, neither
Do they spin—but freely sing
With cheer and delight.
Their hymns give us pause:
After toiling and spinning,
The silence sweeps in.
What lies in the heart
When the spinning and toiling
Suddenly ceases?
What lies in the heart
When the toiling and spinning
Arrives at its end?
When the silence comes
—the source of all song—what was
Once mute will be heard.
The fear and the joy,
The anger and the sorrow
Take flight like sweet songs.
They toil not, neither
Do they spin, these brave songsters—
These faithful soldiers.
They toil not, neither
Do they spin, these soulful sprites—
These sweet birds of song.
Why Should Mortals Weep
Why should mortals weep
Knowing each life flies,
Lasting no longer
Than an angel’s sighs?
Why should mortals weep
For a lover’s voice,
Long ago vanquished
By fate’s fickle choice?
Should we mortals weep
As each spring blossom
Wafts its sweet fragrance,
Then falls to its doom?
Should we all then weep
Knowing how the sage,
Like a purloined breath,
Has flown from his cage?
Why should mortals keep
Fighting to withhold
Tear drops that would stain
A cheek once so bold?
If love once embraced
Must decay to ash
Or vanish in tears
From a maiden’s lash?
Why should mortals weep
If the morning rose
With refulgent tears
Casts away her woes?
If the saddest thoughts
Can like lightning’s flash
Be the phoenixes
Rising from the ash?
If the poet’s pain
Which the muses sing
Is thought on this earth
A beautiful thing?
Lay Down Your Armor
Lay down your armor
And play for me your precious lyre;
And let me hear
Your deepest dreams and frail desires.
Lay down your armor
And play for me your gentle lyre;
And share with me
The story of your precious pains.
Lay down your armor
And share your sweetest dreams with me;
And tell me who
You saw inside those deepest dreams.
Lay down your armor
And play for me your thespian lay;
And show me why
A mortal tongue is sweeter than a lyre.
Lay down your armor
And play for me your songs, singing
Your lovely pains—
The dolorous nights you spent in dreams.
Lay down your armor
And play for me your little lyre;
And show me why
The world’s less real than our desire.
Lay down your armor
And pluck for me your dainty strings;
And tell me why
A dream’s more real than the world.
Lay down your armor
And play once more your precious lyre;
And show me why
The world can fade, but not our dreams.
Lay down your armor
And let us dream a little while
—Dreams without end—
I’ll walk with you through every dream.
David Gosselin is a writer, researcher and translator in Montreal, Canada. He is the founding editor of The Chained Muse and New Lyre Magazine. He writes on Substack at Age of Muses.
Days Away: New Lyre - Spring/Summer 2025
