Orpheus

Most virginally sprung In the shadow of light, Eternally young, A magical sight, Wandering among Day, twilight, and night, As a bride in her chamber that dreams many visions of varied delight. O how shall my lyre Divide thee, dispart Thy water and fire, Thy soul and thy heart, Thy hills that spring higher, Thy flowers that upstart, How quire thee, my limitless love, with a lewd and a limited art? A fortress, a sphere, An arrow of flame; Let thy children appear At the sound of thy name! In my silence uprear The sweet guerdon of shame! Be they choral to hymn thee, O mother, thy magic ineffable fame! Last birth of the Sun, Best gift of the giver, Thou surely art One! As the moon on the river, 57