The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

152 THE EQUINOX I should burst with song, I know, And go, An ill-starred victim, to the lost low land Where the wailing voices— That are voices only, Having burst the husk of song— Wander lonely, While the Muse rejoices, Bearing within her hand The lyre, And the sacred fire, Serene and strong, That lights the dusky underworld. Ah! hurled, ah! hurled By Zeus From the skies, Prometheus, lost Prometheus Gasps and dies For ever on the rock of my desire, And the lusty Raven Hath sought at last his haven, Under the streams that flow from that lost fire... . Oh, woe! Oh, woe to me that have seen this, Oh, woe unutterable! the last long kiss Hath slain me, O thou nymph with wanton eyes! And now the sunlight dies A moment from the skies Over the Abyss. . . .