Orpheus

With swift hard rhythm, the remorseless clang; Or as a serpent loosening his fang To bite more deeply—this inane distress More than despair or death’s detested pang. I live—that shames me! Iam not a man. _ Nothing can I to sharpen or to span My throat with iron fingers, or my sword In my heart’s acid where the blood began Long since to leap, and now drops deadly slow, Clotted with salt and sulphur and strong woe. I shall not die: the first sight of the sward Stained with the spectral corpse had stung me so, Not stabbed me, since I saw her and survive. I shall not die—Ah! shall I be alive? This hath no part in either: bale and bliss Forget me, careless if I rot or thrive. Heaven forgot me—or she were not dead ! And Hades—or I should not raise my head Now, and look wildly where I used to kiss, Gaze on the form whence all but form has fled! I am alone in all the universe, Changed to the shape and image of a curse, Muffled in self-confusion, and my brain Wakes not nor sleeps: its destiny is worse. 116