Orpheus

ORPHEUS O hours not of day But of zons that roll ! Earth stretches away From pole unto pole; Four seasons decay, Ere one sound of thy soul, O fervent and following years, springs over the solar goal ! Come forth to the sound Of the seven sweet strings! Advance and rebound! Be your pomp as a king’s! Girdled around With seasons and stings As a serpent’s encompassing Time. Come forth! on the heavy grey wings! Ye arbiter lords That sit as for doom, Bright splendour of swords Leaps forth in your gloom ! But stronger my chords Shall lift in your womb The love of your passage and time, immemorial ages, your tomb. : Ye linger for long, But ye pass and are done: 84