Orpheus

It thinks not, knows not, acts not, nor appeals, But hangs, remembers : it abides and feels As if God’s vulture clung to it amain, And furies fixed with fiery darts and wheels Their horror, thought-exceeding, manifold, Vertiginous within me—and the cold Of Styx splashed on me, making me immortal, Invulnerable in its bitter mould; Leaving its own ice, penetrating streams, Grim streaks, and dismal drops, abysmal beams Thrown from the gulphthorough the placeand portal, Each drop o’erladen with a curse that steams Unnatural in the coldness: let me be Alone, inviolate of eternity! Let all the winds of air leave me, nor fan: Nor wash me all the waves of all the sea! Let all the sun’s light and the moon’s be blind, And all the stars be lampless to my mind, ' Until I see the destiny of man And span the cruelty that lurks behind Its beauty, and its glory, and its splendour !— The girl-babe’s face looks up to the mother tender, Looks for a kiss in dumb desire, and finds Her jaws closed trap-like to expunge and end her! 117