Orpheus

The shadow of the buttress stays And dips its head and swims, While moss engirdles it with grays And greens that dew bedims. Now, at the last, the western end, Most miracle of all! The groves of rock dispart and rend Their sacred cincture-wall ; All tunes of heaven their rapture lend To make the waterfall. There, steaming from the haze and mist Where dew is dashed in spray, Rises a halo sunrise-kissed And kissed at close of day From ruby unto amethyst, Within the veil of grey. And there within the circled light I saw a dancing thing, Most like the tender-leavéd night Of moonrise seen in spring, A shadow luminous and white Like a ghost beckoning. And then dim visions came to me, Faint memories of fear: As when the Argo put on sea Such stories we did hear, 134