D. H. Lawrence - Bavarian Gentians

Not every man has gentians in his house
in soft September, at slow, sad Michaelmas.

Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
darkening the daytime, torch-like, with the smoking blueness of Pluto's gloom,
ribbed and torch-like, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off light,
lead me then, lead the way.

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch!
let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness
even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice
or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom,
among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness
on the lost bride and her groom.

Ramona Zamfirescu - Gentiene de Bavaria

Nu orisicine are parte de gentiene in gradina sa
la inceputul lui Septembrie intr-o zi molcoma si trista de Sfantul Mihail.

Gentienele de Bavaria, mari si intunecate, care inunda lumina zilei
cu intunecimea lor, ca niste torte, cu albastrimea fumurie a amurgului lui Pluto,
torte arzand cu flacari intunecat-albastre
stranse in puncte, domolite de zbuciumul unei zile dalbe
flori-torta din albastrul fumuriu al intunericului, din uluirea lui Pluto albastru nascute,
lampi negre venite parca de pe taramurile lumii de dincolo, arzand albastru inchis,
raspandind intunericul, intuneric albastrui, asa acum lampile palpainde ale Demetrei raspandesc lumina,
conduceti-ma dara, aratati-mi drumul.

Culege-mi o gentiana, adu-mi o torta!
ingaduie-mi sa-mi intrevad pasii la lumina albastra a tortei acestei florii
in jos pe trepte in bezna din ce in ce mai adanca, acolo unde albastrul este inghitit de albastrime
chiar si acolo unde paseste chiar acum Persefona, din inghetatul Septembrie
spre taramul desert, acolo unde albastrul se hraneste cu intuneric
iar Persefona insesi nu este decat o voce slaba,
o forma invizibila de intuneric invaluita in intunecimea si mai apriga
a bratelor lui Pluto, si strapunsa de pasiunea obscuritatii arzatoare,
printre splendorile de torte ale intunericului, imprastiind misterul
peste mireasa pierduta si mirele ei.