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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


HELLENICA: 2 by EDWARD JOSEPH HARRINGTON O'BRIEN

First Line: AULA, WHOSE DREAMS WERE HONEY DRIPPING SOFTLY
Last Line: WAITING HIS GENTLE COMING WITH HER CHILDREN.

I

Aula, whose dreams were honey dripping softly,
Stirs in her slumber here,
For the sound of her lover pausing
Brings to her heart
The fragrance of star-haunted valleys.

II

Chara loosed her zone
In the woven sunlight,
And the grasses trembled for fear of her sacred fairness.
But breast to breast
She turned to her mother earth,
And now when the swallows flutter around her pillow
Only the wind
Remembers the flower of her bosom.

III

The song in her heart is mute,
But ancient music
Lingers stilled in the light of the patterned woodways.

IV

Green boughs stirring in slumber
Sigh at the lost remembrance
Of Aulon,
Golden-thighed, in the heart of the forest.

V

Here, where the dripping leaves
Whisper of passing feet
To the fragrant woodways,
The moonlight floods the forsaken tangled boughs
With loneliness
For Melinna, gone from the evening.

VI

Over the meadow-ways to the heart of Glaucon,
The honey-dreaming bees
Wing their murmurous flight,
For flame-tinged violets
Have woven over his bed
The fragrant dream that he guarded
Many summers.

VII

Here, on the windy hill,
The sunlight calls her,
But under the dreaming grass
Only the warm-stirred earth
Answers the golden summons.

VIII

Here by the rocky shore
Of grass-strewn Aulis,
White sheep crop the herbage of salt pastures.
Under this gentle mound of watered earth
Their shepherd dreams softly beside them.

IX

Stir not the grasses here,
O wandering zephyr,
For Phaon travelled far over alien foam
Before his footsteps turned in soft contentment
Home to the green threshold
He had forgotten.

X

Down the way to Acheron
In the twilight,
Flutes blow softly
Bearing the memory
Of Myrtis, lonely-breasted,
Who wanders through the shades on her wedding day.

XI

High on the rhododendron-crested summits
Conon followed the stars
To their home in the east.
Now the south wind over the storm-bowed valley
Sings of the centaur who passed
Through the gates of the morning.

XII

Under an olive tree by the banks of Ilyssus
Nossis lies, who loved her husband dearly,
Waiting his gentle coming with her children.



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