Apollo and Marsyas, and Other Poems

To A R A B E L L A D U F F Y.



The contest of the Satyr with the God, Oh who shall end it? Who shall end the strife That fills all Art, all Nature and all Life, And give the right of flaying with a nod?
Oh who when radiant noontide’s last note dies, And darkness with its mystery draws near, Shall bid the strains of twilight not arise That fill the soul with wistfulness or fear?
Man gives his love in turn, he knows not why, To sun or gloom according to his mood; His ear, his heart, alternately is woo’d By Nature’s carol or by Nature’s sigh.
And Marsyas’ reed-pipe and Apollo’s lyre Make endless competition upon earth, As men prefer the charm of vague desire, Or charm of bright serenity and mirth.
But not alone the wistful strains of eve Mean unseen Marsyas speaking to the heart; Nor is he near, in Nature and in Art, Alone where yearning makes the bosom heave.