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I Hail Myself as I do Homer
Ah thou, world of this day, sigh not of the poets who have deserted thee—aye, I hail myself as I do Homer!
Behold, a baby flower hymns the creation of the universe in the breeze, charming my soul as the lover-moon!
O Yone,—a ripple of the vanity-water, a raindrop from the vanity-cloud,—lay thy body under the sun-enameled shade of the trees
As a heathen idol in an untrodden path awakening in spirit sent by the unseen genius of the sphere!
The earth, a single-roomed hermitage for mortals, shows not unto me a door to Death on the joy-carpeted floor—
Behold, a baby flower hymns the creation of the universe in the breeze, charming my soul as the lover-moon!
O Yone,—a ripple of the vanity-water, a raindrop from the vanity-cloud,—lay thy body under the sun-enameled shade of the trees
As a heathen idol in an untrodden path awakening in spirit sent by the unseen genius of the sphere!
The earth, a single-roomed hermitage for mortals, shows not unto me a door to Death on the joy-carpeted floor—
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