Collected Works (Vol. III)

ORPHEUS 146 The hills and dales are dumb beneath the heat, And all the world lies tranced or mutely dreaming, Save some low sigh caught up where pulses beat Of warm love waiting in the arboreal seat Till the shade lengthen on the lawn light- gleaming. Now all the birds change tune, and all the light Glows lowlier, musing on departed day. Strange wings and sombre, heralding the night, Fleet far across the woods; and gleaming bright The evening star looks from the orient way. Shadow and silence deepen : all the woods Take on a tenderer phrase of musical Breezes: the stream-sought homes solitudes Murmur a little where the maiden moods Are sadder as the evening’s kisses fall. and Like silver scales of serpenthood they fall Across the blind air of the evening; Shadowy ghosts arise funereal And seek unspeakable things; and dryads call The satyr-company to the satyr-king. And all the light is over; but the sky Shudders with blanched light of the un- risen moon. The night-birds mingle their sad minstrelsy For daylight’s requiem: and the sea’s reply Now stirs across the land’s departed tune. The moon is up: the choral crowd of stars, Shapen like strange or unknown animals, Move in their measure : beyond A£olian bars The clustering winds, moving as nenuphars, Gather and muse before the midnight calls. The darkness is most deep in hollow dells. There, blacker than Cocytus, lurk the shades Darker than death’s, more terrible than hell’s, Uttering unwritten words: the silent wells Keep their sweet secret till the morning maids Bring their carved pitchers to the moss- grown side. . For now beyond, below the east, appears A hint as if a band, silvern and wide, The girdle of some goddess amber-eyed, Rose from the solemn company of the spheres. The sky is tinged, as if the amorous flesh Of that same queen shone through the girdle drawn By her own kissing fervour through its mesh. Last, glory of godhead! flickers, flames the fresh First faint frail rose and arrow of the dawn. SPRING. Mild glimpses of the quiet moon, let through Tall groves of cedar, stain the glade; gleams mild The kirtle of the unweaned spring, stained blue From the blue breasts that suckle to the child. Through the new-leaved trees The hidden stranger sees The moon’s sweet light, the shadows listening If a ghost-foot should fall : And if a ghost-voice call Tremble the leaves and light-streaks of the spring. On wavering wing The small clouds gallop in the windy sky: The hoarse rooks croak and droop them to the nest : One sweet small throat begins to sing, Becomes the song, losing identity Ere its wail wakes.the long low-lying crest That rears across the west.