Be not misled, though their god wear
Light in his Dionysian hair.
Flushed are their garlands, poison-scent,
Sanguineous is their blandishment;
From Pythia, enaisled and riven,
Strangely exalted were they driven;
But by each lintel, coloured flame,
Whithersoever their feet came,
In every city, dim and deep,
Waked from a lotus-lidded sleep,
Men laughed, fought, wept, with hearts afire,
Snared by the music of their lyre ....
Back to your portals — fast there, pray
Until this curse be passed away !’
They hearkened to him. I, the least—
I, O my brother, slew their priest!”
Light in his Dionysian hair.
Flushed are their garlands, poison-scent,
Sanguineous is their blandishment;
From Pythia, enaisled and riven,
Strangely exalted were they driven;
But by each lintel, coloured flame,
Whithersoever their feet came,
In every city, dim and deep,
Waked from a lotus-lidded sleep,
Men laughed, fought, wept, with hearts afire,
Snared by the music of their lyre ....
Back to your portals — fast there, pray
Until this curse be passed away !’
They hearkened to him. I, the least—
I, O my brother, slew their priest!”
“And yet,” I said, “thy hands are white,
Not bloody, O Hermaphrodite!
Innocent are those eyes that keep
Vigil, a thousand years asleep.
It may be in the peakèd earth
Some dream found agonizing birth,
Until, intestine, there was wrought
The vision prophesying thought—
Beauty is thine, and pagan praise,
Forgotten in these evil days,
Not bloody, O Hermaphrodite!
Innocent are those eyes that keep
Vigil, a thousand years asleep.
It may be in the peakèd earth
Some dream found agonizing birth,
Until, intestine, there was wrought
The vision prophesying thought—
Beauty is thine, and pagan praise,
Forgotten in these evil days,
20
