With pale green hopes and the gay colors flying Of the rich shores that girded their dark land, They burst into the temple where lay dying An unknown virgin gutted by her own hand. The shout went up like a half-strangled song, Cutting the noonday languor into shreds; The mob rushed out again and smote the gong, Bearing the phallus over their febrile heads. Still, at her feet, the thin-lipped lover prayed, Beating his anguish on a tympanum, As in and out among the few that stayed Wandered the priest's voice from the adytum: "Lay now the grape and the bright leaves of sorrow Upon the altar beside her bloody hair; Wash clean your hands and hearts, that no tomorrow May find her unforgiven or unfair; "The god had not yet answered to our pity For the black vision and tangle in her brains, Nor is there knowing soever in the city Of the red histories that throbbed in her blue veins." Then, as the twilight clutched a single star, Cold wonder drove the mourners on their way: All, for the riddle, swore to roam afar Scourging the night and gathering the day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ORANGUTAN REHAB by KAREN SWENSON VISIONS: 5 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER by THOMAS HOOD RICH AND POOR; OR, SAINT AND SINNER by THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK |