Orpheus

Unto the flowers, think worthy to remember How the dust scattered from their fading ember Is their own sign and seal of fatherhood, Grey seas of sorrow sun-kissed into amber. Above me hangs the sun: horrid he hangs, A rayless globe of hell, shooting forth fangs Snake-wise to parch and burn my solitude, Nor leave me quiet lamenting, with these pangs Tearing my liver, more Promethean Than ever Titan knew—the sunbright span Of narrow water mocks me, brightening Far to the indigo Ionian. The sun hangs high, as in the Arabian tale Enchanted palaces defy the gale, Perched upon airy mountains, on the wing Of genii poised, souls suffering and pale With their long labour: wizard spire and dome That maidens grown magicians had for home, | Where the charmed sword and graven talisman Held them supremely floating on the foam Where cloudier seas innavigably roll, Misty with elemental shape or soul, Thin grey essential nebulz of man, Caught in the mesh of magical control! 130