I am the sailor of the heavens,
And the Viking of the gale,
The cloud-built galleon is my vessel,
And the bellying cloud my sail.
I am the reaper of the heavens,
With the sickle moon in my hand.
I am the minstrel of the heavens,
With the birds that rise from land.
I am the hunter of the heavens,
With the night-hounds for my pack,
Lord of unbroken solitudes
That I am the first to track.
Son of the tempest, son of the moonlight,
Son of the silver sky,
Son of the clean untrodden places,
Son of the air am I.
FROM “A MASQUE OF YOUTH” A MOCK-HEROIC POEM
FROM “A MASQUE OF YOUTH”
[The scene is laid in a circular space of grass in a garden, enclosed by a stone balustrade broken at intervals by statues of sylvan deities. A background of cypresses. An assembly of dim figures.
Right, the Muse of Tragedy upon a raised throne. Centre, a great convoluted shell, in which a naked youth lies sleeping.]
Melpomene. (She is crowned with vine-leaves, shod with the cothurnus, and carries in her hand a tragic mask.)
She addresses
the assembly.