152
THE EQUINOX
I should burst with song, I know,
And go,
An ill-starred victim, to the lost low land
Where the wailing voices—
That are voices only,
Having burst the husk of song—
Wander lonely,
While the Muse rejoices,
Bearing within her hand
The lyre,
And the sacred fire,
Serene and strong,
That lights the dusky underworld.
Ah! hurled, ah! hurled
By Zeus
From the skies,
Prometheus, lost Prometheus
Gasps and dies
For ever on the rock of my desire,
And the lusty Raven
Hath sought at last his haven,
Under the streams that flow from that lost fire... .
Oh, woe! Oh, woe to me that have seen this,
Oh, woe unutterable! the last long kiss
Hath slain me, O thou nymph with wanton eyes!
And now the sunlight dies
A moment from the skies
Over the Abyss. . . .