Is a space that is grey
As it caught them, and beckoned,
And lost them—their way
Is nor counted nor reckoned!
Inconceivable hollow,
Eternity’s womb!
Cataclysmal they follow,
Tomb hidden in tomb.
Reeled off and unspun,
Time’s fashion is done
In the ultimate
Abysses of fate.
Eons they swallow,
And swamp in the gloom,
Where Eternities follow
Their biers to their tomb.
ORPHEUS
O Mother, O hollow
Sweet heart of the moon!
O matchless Apollo
That granted the tune!
Time’s children follow
The strings that commune
With Nature well cloven that comes to the lyre’s lilt
silver-hewn. OT
O bays of the wind,
And shoreland of Thrace!
go