Orpheus

ORPHEUS O girded and spanned By the deeds of time, Rocks shattered and planned In your depth: where climb The race and the land, And the growth sublime Of worlds—I invoke ye! Come forth, ye centuries! Come to the rhyme! THE CENTURIES How hardly a man , Though his strength were as a spring’s Shall stretch out his span To the width of my wings! The years are enfolden In my bosom golden, My periods Are the hours of the Gods. They have their plan In my seasons; all things Are woven in the span — Of the spread of my wings. My brazen gates cleft By shafts shed of time, Are ruined and left As the Gods sing their rhyme. 88