To ARGONAUTAE
No passion stirs their depth, nor moves;
No life disturbs their sweet dead loves;
No being holds a crown or throne ;
They are, and I in them, alone,
Only some lute-player grown star
Is heard like whispering flowers afar;
And some divided, single tune
Sobs from the sea and moon.
Amid thy mountains shall I rise,
O moon, and float about thy skies?
Beneath thy waters shall I roam,
O sea, and call thy valleys home?
Or on Daedalian oarage fare
Forth in the interlunar air?
Imageless mirror-life! to be
Sole between moon and sea.
CHORUS.
No song can lure us while he sings so well.
JASON.
But look! I see entrancing woman-forms
That beckon—fairy-like and not of earth.
So, fitter than the bed of this my queen
To rest heroic limbs!
MEDEA.
The wretched one!
Thou knowest that their kiss is death!