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ORPHEUS
ORPHEUS.
O hours not of day
But of ons that roll!
Earth stretches away
From pole unto pole ;
Four seasons decay,
Ere one sound of thy soul,
O fervent and following years, springs over
the solar goal !
Come forth to the sound
Of the seven sweet strings !
Advance and rebound !
Be your. pomp as a king’s !
Girdled around
With seasons and stings
As a serpent’s encompassing Time.
forth ! on the heavy grey wings!
Come
Ye arbiter lords
That sit as for doom,
Bright splendour of swords
Leaps forth in your gloom !
But stronger my chords
Shall lift in your womb
The love of your passage and time, imme-
morial ages, your tomb. |
Ye linger for long,
But ye pass and are done:
But I, my sweet song
Outliveth the sun !
Ye are many and strong;
I am stronger, and one !
Come forth! I invoke ye, O years, in my
evening orison.
THE YEARS.
Crowned with Eternity, beyond beginning;
Sandalled with wings, Eternity’s ; the end
Far beyond sight of striving soul or sinning ;
Ourselves see not, nor know, nor compre-
hend.
Reeling from chaos, unto Chronos winning,
Devoured of Him our Father and our
friend,
This is our life, lead winged or footed golden ;
We pass, and each of other is unbeholden.
Ranged in dim spectral order and procession,
We span man’s thought, we limit him in
time ;
None of the souls of earth have had posses-
sion
Of larger loves or passions more sublime.
Where the night-caverns hide our solemn
session
The summoning word lifts up our holy
rhyme.
Even as a mighty river, bend to bend,
We rise in turn and look toward the end.
Also, the Gods arisen from the living
Lights of the sky, half hidden in the night,
Vast shapes beholden of men unbelieving,
Staggering the sense and reason with the
sight,
Manifold, mighty, monstrous, no light giving
Unto the soul that is not also light ;
We rise in ghastly power; we know the
token, ©
The speech of silence and the song unspoken.
ORPHEUS.,
Come forth to the sound,
Ye lustres of years
That hide in profound
Abysses of fears,
Hidden and bound !
The voice of tears
Implores and impels ye, O lustres, with a
tune that is strong as a seer’s.
THE LUSTRES.
Fivefold the shape sublime that lifts its head
Uniform, self-repeating, comparable
At last to a man’s life: twice seven times
dead
Ere the light flickers in that citadel,
Or the great whiteness lure his soul instead
Of many-coloured earth: ere the strong
spell
Fail, and the Fates with iron-shapen shears
Cut the frail silver, hide him from the years.