82
Orion.
[Book II.
'T is thus with me. I know that thou art blest.
Our inmost powers—fresh winged shall soar and dream
In realms of honey-dew, whose air—light—flowers,
Will ever be—though vague, most fair—most sweet—
Better than memory.———Look yonder, love!
What solemn image through the trunks is straying?
And now he doth not move, yet never turns
On us his visage Of 'rapt vacancy!
It is Oblivion. In his hand—though nought
Knows he of this—a dusky purple flower
Droops over its tall stem. Again, ah see!
He wanders into mist, and now is lost.———
Within his brain what lovely realms of death
Are pictured, and what knowledge through the doors
Of his forgetfulness of all the earth,
A path may gain? Then turn thee, love, to me:
Was I not worth thy winning and thy toil,
O, earth-born son of Ocean! Melt to rain."
Our inmost powers—fresh winged shall soar and dream
In realms of honey-dew, whose air—light—flowers,
Will ever be—though vague, most fair—most sweet—
Better than memory.———Look yonder, love!
What solemn image through the trunks is straying?
And now he doth not move, yet never turns
On us his visage Of 'rapt vacancy!
It is Oblivion. In his hand—though nought
Knows he of this—a dusky purple flower
Droops over its tall stem. Again, ah see!
He wanders into mist, and now is lost.———
Within his brain what lovely realms of death
Are pictured, and what knowledge through the doors
Of his forgetfulness of all the earth,
A path may gain? Then turn thee, love, to me:
Was I not worth thy winning and thy toil,
O, earth-born son of Ocean! Melt to rain."
No foot may enter 'midst these cedar glooms:
Passion is there—a spell is on the place—
It hath its own protecting atmosphere,
Needing no walls nor bars. But Chios' king
Hath framed his purpose; the sworn instruments
Passion is there—a spell is on the place—
It hath its own protecting atmosphere,
Needing no walls nor bars. But Chios' king
Hath framed his purpose; the sworn instruments
