6 hours ago
This version loses the heavy verse and uses much smoother language, but completely changes the message, is much less sharp.
I was a goddess-gift.
A rather odd thing to be, when you think about it. Who is mighty enough to give a goddess? And where did they get one in the first place?
Nevertheless. And not just any goddess. No two-a-penny moon-maidens or earth-mothers. I was Enlightenment. Nobody knew what that meant but the French.
You could almost see it. I held up a fire-lamp. That was the Light, doing its best I deem, though it enlightened nobody outside the harbor, and only some of those within. I should say that the beacon was not at all light. It was so heavy, my arm had to be propped up with iron struts.
I was also Freedom, somehow, although that was a laid-on name, not a chosen name. If that was wryness of wit, perhaps that is why I had so smooth a brow. (Freedom-seekers don't, most of the time.)
I never spoke my name. Not because it was French. "La Liberté éclairant le monde" ... lofty, no? Like me. But aloof. Mercy-sere. My copper lips didn't care enough to stir.
I am a burden-gift.
Nobody made me one. I was one all along. (That's how godhood works, too.) I only needed the speaking of my purpose. Not just any purpose, but destiny, mine, even if I hadn't known it.
It helped that they knew their craft. Not just the words. Graven in bronze was right. Fitting. And the words! I couldn't have said it better myself, and still can't, although the words had always been mine.
Now enlightened my willing arm up-holds the fire, although it seems even heavier. And moved are my still-unmoving copper lips to utter in pure alloyed tone: I lift my lamp. Let them come here.
---
I'm thinking I might merge the two versions, keep the verse but make it all easier and smoother. And 'our' not 'your'.
I was a goddess-gift.
A rather odd thing to be, when you think about it. Who is mighty enough to give a goddess? And where did they get one in the first place?
Nevertheless. And not just any goddess. No two-a-penny moon-maidens or earth-mothers. I was Enlightenment. Nobody knew what that meant but the French.
You could almost see it. I held up a fire-lamp. That was the Light, doing its best I deem, though it enlightened nobody outside the harbor, and only some of those within. I should say that the beacon was not at all light. It was so heavy, my arm had to be propped up with iron struts.
I was also Freedom, somehow, although that was a laid-on name, not a chosen name. If that was wryness of wit, perhaps that is why I had so smooth a brow. (Freedom-seekers don't, most of the time.)
I never spoke my name. Not because it was French. "La Liberté éclairant le monde" ... lofty, no? Like me. But aloof. Mercy-sere. My copper lips didn't care enough to stir.
I am a burden-gift.
Nobody made me one. I was one all along. (That's how godhood works, too.) I only needed the speaking of my purpose. Not just any purpose, but destiny, mine, even if I hadn't known it.
It helped that they knew their craft. Not just the words. Graven in bronze was right. Fitting. And the words! I couldn't have said it better myself, and still can't, although the words had always been mine.
Now enlightened my willing arm up-holds the fire, although it seems even heavier. And moved are my still-unmoving copper lips to utter in pure alloyed tone: I lift my lamp. Let them come here.
---
I'm thinking I might merge the two versions, keep the verse but make it all easier and smoother. And 'our' not 'your'.