Collected Works (Vol. III)

188 ORPHEUS And bring my lover from among the dead. Now in the blackness of the rocks that span The dolorous way I spy a golden thread Veined in the strength of the obsidian Flowing and growing, joining vein to vein, Like fresh blood in the arteries of man, Up to the very heart. And as I go Loosen the knees of anguish and grow dim The shattering flames of pain: the songs of woe Flicker and alter to a solemn hymn Chanted in slowest measure in deep awe. Now as a yew-tree sends a mighty limb Shooting to sunset, the black road’s black maw Gapes to the westward; the great trunk divides And all the armies of infernal law Stand ranked about the venerable sides Of the black cave: they speak not; dumb they stand And all the frost of all the air abides Upon them, as a vampire stooped and spanned The white throat ofa maiden and held still Her powers by virtue of its hate’s command, Somewhat like love’s: so all the solemn chill Invades those statued ranks of warriors, And I pass through, the lightning of my will A steady stream of flame: high instinct pours Its limpid light of water on my mind, So that I range inhospitable shores Assured of Her I shall most surely find Ere the end be: awake, O living lyre, Since in the narrow way and pass confined I see a darkness infinite as fire, Clear as all spirit vision, lustrous yet As ebony shows in caverns rendered dire By dreadful magic, or as if pure jet Had taken of itself an inner light, And its own blackness filled night’s coronet With a new jewel: so I see aright Where no light is like earth’s. grows broad And lofty, till the whole hall springs to sight, The path And I am standing where the dreaded Lord And Lady of the region of the lost Hold awful sway: yet here the flaming sword Of sight is broken by the deadly frost That clusters round their thrones: a mist of fire Congealed to vital darkness: yet exhaust Like a seer’s magic glass of air: expire The dumb black hours in fear: but I am ware, Well ware, by instinct surer still and higher Than the own sight of soul that they are there, No mockery of their presence: so even hither My mother’s might is on me, on I flare Into wild war of song: my keen notes wither The flowers of frost about me and I turn Ever the strength and mastering frenzy thither With energy of madness: yea, I burn! My soul burns up upon the lyre! I lend My whole life’s vigour to one song, to earn Their guerdon of the gods, a god to friend, And seek through devious ways a single end. [Zuvoking HADES. Str. I. Now is the gold gone of the year, and gone The glory of the world, and gathered close The silver of the frost. Far splendid snows Shine where the bright anemone once shone. Ay! for the laughter live Of youths and maids that strive