Misted and golden as the hanging moon,
That like a summer fruit floats from the sky,
Thrills out our distant age-enchanted tune,
—Nor will it let you pass our beauty by.
But if it should not reach to stir your mind,
Then hold a summer rose against the ear,
Till through its crimson sweetness you can hear
The falling flow of rhythm—so designed
That from this secret island, like a star
Shining above a shrouded world, our song
Cleaves through the darkest night and echoes long,
Bidding you follow whether near or far.
Come hither where the mermaids churn the foam,
Lashing their tails across the calm, or dive
To groves and gardens of bright flowers; then roam
Beneath the shade of stone-branched trees, or drive
Some slow sea-monster to its musselled home.
Here, as a ladder, they climb up and down
The rainbow's steep refracted steps of light,
Till, when the dusk sends down its rippling frown,
They quiver back to us in silver flight.
The moon sails down once more; our mermaids bring
Rich gifts of ocean fruit. Again we sing.
Enchantment, love, vague fear, and memories
That cling about us like the fumes of wine
With myriad love-enhancing mysteries
We pour out in one song—intense—divine,
Down the deep moonlit chasms of the waves
Our song floats on the opiate breeze. Why seek
To goad your carven galleys, fast-bound slaves
Who search each sweeping line of bay and creek,
Only to stagger on a hidden rock, or find
The limp dead sails swept off by sudden wind?
Thus always you must search the cruel sea,
For if you find us mankind shall be free!
But when you sleep we grasp you by the hand,
And to the trickling honey of the flute
We lead you to a distant shimmering land
Where lotus-eaters munch their golden fruit,
Then fall upon the fields of summer flowers
In drunken sunlit slumber, while a fawn
Prances and dances round them.
Oh, those hours
When through the crystal valleys of the dawn
Down from the haunted forests of the night
There dash the dew-drenched centaurs on their way,
Mad with the sudden rush of golden light
—Affright the lotus-eaters, as they sway
Towards the woodlands in a stumbling flight.
In these deep groves we follow through the cool
Shadow of high columnar trees, to find
The fallen sky within a forest pool
That's faintly veiled and fretted by a wind,
Lest our white flashing limbs should turn you blind.
* * * * *
As the sweet sound of bells that fall and fade
In watery circles on the verge of night,
So rounded ripples spread beneath the shade
Of flowing branches dripping with green light.
Thus do we wander; but when day is spent
We grope our way thro' vast tall palaces,
Palaces sinister and somnolent,
Where lurk dim fears and unknown menaces.
These high pale walls and this pale shining floor
Seem built of bones, by ages planed and ground
To a white smoothness.
On this rock-bound shore
The bodies of dead sailors oft are found.
These sombre arches pierce the sullen sky.
These pillars are the pillars of the night.
Of what avail your strife and agony?
Why seek to search and struggle for the light?
Our music chains you: binds your limbs from flight.