Orpheus

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