Orpheus

What mortal hath greeted Thy shrine, but shall sing Not earthly but tunes of thine own, in the vaults of Aornos that ring? Nor caring nor hearing For hearts that be bowed, Nor hating nor fearing Man’s crying aloud, Solemnly spearing _ The single, the crowd, Thou sittest remote and alone, unprofane, with due silence endowed ! , I call thee by Nature, My mother and friend ! By every creature! | By life and its end! By love, the true teacher, My chanting I send, Invoking thy stature immense, the terrible form of a fiend! I hear not a word, ' Though my music be rolled As the song of a bird Through fields of gold. Hast thou not heard? Have I not told The magic that bridleth the Gods, the Gods in their houses of old? , : 92