Tale of Archais

THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 45 Thrust up by magic, in the direst pangs Of Earth, when Earth was yet a whirling cloud Of fire and adamant, a ceaseless crowd Of rushing atoms roaring into space, Driven by demons from before the Face. And these gleamed white, while Helios lit the heaven, Like tusks ; but at the coming of the even Were visions wonderful with indigo ; And in the glory of the afterglow Were rosy with its kiss ; and in the night Were crowned with that unutterable light That is a brilliance of solemn black, Glistening wide across the ocean track Of white-sailed ships and many mariners. So, on the tallest spire, where wakes and whirrs The eagle when dawn strikes his eyrie, came The maiden, clad in the abundant flame Of setting sun, with shapely shoulders bare, And even the glory of her midday hair Was bound above her head ; so, naked pure, Fixed in that purpose, which the gods endure With calm despair, the purpose to be passed Into the circle, that, serene and vast, Girds all, and is itself the All—to die—