Orpheus

The sky is tinged, as if the amorous flesh Of that same queen shone through the girdle drawn By her own kissing fervour through its mesh. Last, glory of godhead! flickers, flames the fresh First faint frail rose and arrow of the dawn. SPRING Mild glimpses of the quiet moon, let through Tall groves of cedar, stain the glade; gleams mild The kirtle of the unweaned spring, stained blue From the blue breasts that suckle to the child. Through the new-leavéd trees The hidden stranger sees The moon’s sweet light, the shadows listening If a ghost-foot should fall: And if a ghost-voice call , Tremble the leaves and light-streaks of the spring. On wavering wing The small clouds gallop in the windy sky: The hoarse rooks croak and droop them to the nest: One sweet small throat begins to sing, Becomes the song, losing identity Ere its wail wakes the long low-lying crest That rears across the west. | Spring, maiden-footed, steals across the space, Sandalled with tremulous light, with flickering hair Blown o’er the sweet looks of the fair child-face, Like willows drooping o’er the liquid mere, 76