ORPHIC HYMN
Upon that sun -- eye drenched in blood --
Sat direly, fier'ly, birds well-spun --
None much more than a silhouette.
Spy now thee, then, beyond it all,
Quenched misery in bosoms of those flighting sprighting ones,
Twin qualities of virtue likewise vice, since ancient
Flood a gift -- but loss, too ...
Against the frame and measure
Of flame, no lum'nous treasure,
Angelic wing,
Do cling, do cling,
For lasting, dying spring;
As none mortal can say,
On passing of the day
That prayer to last,
Entreating to die,
Which one is the bitt'rer repast ---
Decline, decay, expire ...
Or suffer at divine leisure ...
Neither a lum'nous treasure.
Regard thus dusk -- lid leaden, stark --
Fuss, of tone, of hue, strange fever dream,
Brusque whistling 'twixt the branches gray.
Bid gale and gust these spectral bells:
Amen-gongs resound, ring, echo. Horizon's band,
Barque sealess, oarless ... sing!
Against the frame and measure
Of flame, no lum'nous treasure,
Angelic wing,
Do cling, do cling,
For lasting, dying spring;
Though being, this being,
Love -- pain! -- unseeing
With eyes overcast,
Entreating to die ...
Imploring, though futilely, vast
One, numinous arbiter.
As flighted things do feel pain, love:
Either, such radiant treasures.
Upon that sun -- eye drenched in blood --
Sat direly, fier'ly, birds well-spun --
None more a silhouette ...
