Carven of coloured dreams and grace,
Surely beneath the fervid sun
Thou foundest joy in Pergamon?”
Surely beneath the fervid sun
Thou foundest joy in Pergamon?”
“O no! no! no!” he answered, “There
I found a dreamless sepulchre
In a chryselephantine house,
Oblivion after my carouse,
But not forever....The tale is told
On urns and saffron altars old,
Where mouth meets mouth, and grave boys make
Soft melody on lyres that ache
In the elusive marble still,
Charred, broken, yet imperishable!
Thou, too, hast seen them....”
I found a dreamless sepulchre
In a chryselephantine house,
Oblivion after my carouse,
But not forever....The tale is told
On urns and saffron altars old,
Where mouth meets mouth, and grave boys make
Soft melody on lyres that ache
In the elusive marble still,
Charred, broken, yet imperishable!
Thou, too, hast seen them....”
I nodded on.
“At dawn we entered Pergamon:
But in a tower against the sky
A watchman cried: ‘Whence pass ye by?
Speak! if for good or ill it be....’
And one said: ‘Priests to Cybele,
Sombre and vowed against the sun,
We seek her shrine in Sarpedon.
There, in Lycia, we are told
Men worship her even as of old,
There, turreted by forests deep,
But in a tower against the sky
A watchman cried: ‘Whence pass ye by?
Speak! if for good or ill it be....’
And one said: ‘Priests to Cybele,
Sombre and vowed against the sun,
We seek her shrine in Sarpedon.
There, in Lycia, we are told
Men worship her even as of old,
There, turreted by forests deep,
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