O daughter of Demeter, yet once more I touch my lute to hymn those virgin tears Shed while the wailing of thy sweet compeers Proclaimed thee borne to Pluto's sullen shore -- If thou hast aught left of thine ancient power, Aught of that poppied spell that soothed away The short-lived grief of Hellas' golden day, O bless me too, child of this latter hour. Faint through the oblivious mists of creeping time Thy sweet face smiles upon us as of old, And those Night-ravished locks of braided gold Float o'er our vision like forgotten rhyme: No more the great gods' footsteps make earth gay With blossom'd flowers and fair Hesperian fruit; Pale are the roses of this latter day, The violets scentless, and the skylarks mute; But naught can break thy temples, naught decry Thine altars; Fate's inviolable decree Hath made them surer than the unsounded sea, Eternal as the everlasting sky. Bitter to most thy poppies of sweet Death, But my soul hungers for them; yea, would fain Taste and have done with pleasure and with pain; Forget the foolishness of mortal breath. But hush! What sweet winds so salute my brows, Whisp'ring of beauteous sounds and golden sights Of all the green and heavenly fresh delights That Earth, thy mother, on her child bestows? Music of rain on primrose-scented meads, Imperial daffodils that mock the wind, And laugh rude-shaken from their slumbers blind Beside the barren roots of moaning reeds, Anemones foam-fair and fairy-frail, Like gentle maidens won from dreamless sleep, That blush to cast aside their Beauty's veil And see the sunbeams thro' their curtains creep; And violets whose dim odours, like the voice Of Loves forgotten, steal our senses through, And carollings of larks that still rejoice, As did the morning stars when Earth was new. Scentless and mute? Nay, tho' the gods are fled, Tho' faded all the bloom of Enna's bowers, Faded her beauteous fields, her breathing flowers, The Spring is come again -- thou art not dead -- So long as May is longed for thy sweet praise Shall flourish: only to the Bride of Death Life's inmost secret Fate interpreteth, And grants the key to her mysterious ways. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INNOVATOR by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET TWO WITCHES: 1. THE WITCH OF COOS by ROBERT FROST SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 156 by PETRARCH THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM by HENRY KIRKE WHITE THE VIOLIN'S ENCHANTRESS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |