Oracles

I00 NIGHT IN THE VALLEY How flock the tribes of wings within the hollow, Even as darkness summons home the herd ! The still slow water slackens into sleep. The rose-glow dies, leaves cold Citlaltepetl’s steep. The chattering voices of the day depart. Earth folds her limbs and leans her loving breast Even to all her children : the great heart Beats solemnly the requiem of rest. The sea keeps tune ; the silent stars upstart Seeming to sentinel that sombre crest Where of old time burst out the vulture fire Cyclopean, that is dead, now, as a man’s desire. The drowsy cries of night birds, then the song Lovely and lovelorn in the listening vale, So wild and tender, swooping down in long Notes of despair, then lifting the low tale In golden notes to skyward in one throng Of clustered silver, so the nightingale Tunes the wild flute, as dryads he would gather To roof with music in the palace of the weather, With love despairing, dying as music dies ; With lost soul’s weeping, and the bitter muse Of such as lift their hearts in sacrifice On some strange cross, or shed Sicillian dews Over a sadder lake than Sicily’s— Hark ! they are leaping from the valley views Into the light and laughter and deep grief Of that immortal heart that sings beyond belief.