HYMN TO APOLLO 
85 
 
O hear me !  hear me !  hear me !  for my hands, 
Dews  deathly   bathe   them ;   sinks   the   stricken 
song ; 
Eyes that were feeble have become the strong, 
See thee and glisten. 
Blindness is mine ; my spirit understands, 
Weighs out the offering, accepts the pain, 
Hearing the pæan of the unprofane ! 
Lycian, listen ! 
 
 
God of the fiery face, the eyes inviolate ! 
Lord of soundless thunders, lightnings lightless ! 
Hear me now, for joy that I see thee sightless, 
Fervent to follow. 
Grant one boon ; destroy me, let me die elate, 
Blasted with light intolerant of a mortal, 
That the undying in me pass thy portal ! 
Hear me, Apollo. 
 
 
Hear me, or if about thy courts be girded 
Paler some purple softening the sunlight 
Merciful, mighty, O divide the one light 
Into a million 
Shattered gems, that I mingle in my worded 
Measures some woven filament of passion 
Caught, Phœbus, from thy star-girt crown, to fashion 
Poet’s pavilion.