Orpheus

Dim shadows of groves Of Demeter adorn The waves and the woods of the earth, the heart of the mother forlorn. Caves curved of the wind, Deep hollows of earth, Whence the song of the blind Old prophet had birth, The caves that confined Deep music of mirth, Thy caves, O my mother, are these not a gem in thy virginal girth ? Ye mountains uplift As an arrow in air; Ice-crowned, rock-cliffed, Snow-bosomed bare, I give ye the gift Of a voice more fair. Leave echo, and wake, and proclaim that ye stand against death and despair ! , Ye hills where I rested In rapture of life, From dawn calm-breasted To evening’s strife, Where skies were nested With mist for a wife! Leave echo, and speak for yourselves: let your song pierce the heaven asaknife! __ 60