Collected Works (Vol. II)

TIO THE ARGONAUTS With me the night is fallen in day ; The day swoons back to night; The white and black are woven in gray, Faint sleep of silken light. A strange soft light about me shed Devours the sense of time: Hovers about my sleepy head Some sweet persistent rhyme. Beneath my breast my love may hear Deep murmur of the billows— O gather me to thee, my dear, On soft forgetful pillows ! O gather me in arms of love As maidens plucking posies, Or mists that fold about a dove, Or valleys full of roses ! O let me fade and fall away From waking into sleep, From sleep to death, from gold to gray, Deep as the skies are deep } O let me fall from death to dream, Eternal monotone; Faint eventide of sleep supreme With thee and love alone! A jewelled night of star and moon Shall watch our bridal chamber, Bending the blue rays to the tune Of softly-sliding amber. Dim winds shall whisper echoes of Our slow ecstatic breath, Telling all worlds how sweet is love, How beautiful is death, MEDEA. Sing, Orpheus, this doth madden them the most. Should one man leap—This tune is terrible ! ORPHEUS. T am not moved, although Tam aman. So strong a safeguard is cool chastity. MEDEA. But love thou me !_ My husband is distraught. ORPHEUS. . Madness is on him for thy punishment. MEDEA. Sing, therefore ! ORPHEUS. This last song of theirs was sweet, MEDEA. Thine therefore should be sweeter. ORPHEUS., The Gods grant it ! Lift up this love of peace and bliss, The starry soul of wine, Destruction’s formidable kiss, The lamp of the divine : This shadow of a nobler name Whose life is strife, whose soul is fame ! I rather will exalt the soul Of man to loftier height, And kindle at a livelier coal The subtler soul of Light. From these soft splendours ofa dream T turn, and seek the Self supreme. This world is shadow-shapen of The bitterness of pain. Vain are the little lamps of ilove ! The hight of life is vain! Life, death, Joy, sorrow, age and youth Are phantoms of a further truth. Beyond the splendour of the world,! False glittering of the gold, A Serpent is in slumber curled In wisdom’s sacred cold. Life is the flaming of that flame. Death is the naming of that name. 1 The theory of these verses is that of certain esoteric schools among the [Hindus.