Collected Works (Vol. III)

140 ORPHEUS Come forth to the sound Of the lightning lyre, Ye valleys profound As a man’s desire, Ye woodlands bound In the hills that are higher Than even the note of a bird as it wings to the solar fire ! Ye fruits and corn, Gold, rose, and green, Vines purple-born, Pearl-hidden sheen, Trees waving in scorn Of the grass between ! Come forth in your chorus, and chant the praise of your mother and queen! Ye trees many-fronded That shake to the wind, Green leaves that have sounded My harp in your kind, Light boughs that are rounded, Grey tops that are shrined In the tears of the heaven as they fall in the blackening storm grown blind ! Ye fields that are flowered In purple and white, Embossed and embowered By the love of the light, Gold-sandalled and showered, Dew-kissed of the night, Your song is too faint and too joyous for mortals to hear it aright. Blue pansies, and roses, And poppies of red, Pale violets in posies Where Hyacinth bled, The flower that closes Its dolorous head ;— What song may be sung, or what tune may be told, or what word may be said ? All tropical scent, Blossom-kindled perfume Love-colours new-lent By the infinite womb, Gold subtlety blent With the scarlet bloom ;— Shall ye in my melody live? Shall my song be not rather your tomb? Most musical moves The head of the corn ; Strong glorious loves Of its being are born. Dim shadows of groves Of Demeter adorn The waves and the woods of the earth, the heart of the mother forlorn. Caves curved of the wind, Deep hollows of earth, Whence the song of the blind Old prophet had birth, The caves that confined Deep music of mirth, Thy caves, O my mother, are these not a gem in thy virginal girth? Ye mountains uplift As an arrow in air; Ice-crowned, rock-cliffed, Snow-bosomed bare, I give ye the gift Of a voice more fair. Leave echo, and wake, and proclaim that ye stand against death and despair ! Ye hills where I rested In rapture of life, From dawn calm-breasted To evening’s strife, Where skies were nested With mist for a wife ! Leave echo, and speak for yourselves: let your song pierce the heaven as a knife !