Here in the kindly earth is laid away
Him whom we loved, the spirit Titan-large,
With thoughts that strained within the bounded clay
To infinites beyond earth's hidden marge:
Hostage of sadness, mighty soul confined
In oubliettes of gloom and pain apart,
Till death's last ransom freed the restless mind
And stilled the passion of that fiery heart.
No more shall he return, trembling, from tryst
With Beauty, held remote from the world's throng,
And from her fervent lips divinely kist
Draw forth his syllables of timeless song.
To him her lucid loveliness she hated
In forest dells and legended romance,
So that he wandered all his days, ensnared
By questing dreams, illumed with mystic trance.
His spirit, like a mountain high, august,
Clove with its sharp desires the sky's blue rim,
And sombre crags of wisdom strong out-thrust
Above the depths with light's excess grown dim.
The sun's white arrows pierce the serried trees,
And splintered fall athwart the mauve-splashed boles
To mingle with dark-frondaged mysteries,
The shine and shadow of his changing souls.
There far below the abyss, runnels plash
In rippling melodies, and waterfalls
Flute rondos of delight, till drowned by clash
Of thunder echoing from the mountain walls.
With night come chants of doom, while demon bands
Hold cloudy revel under red-eyed Mars;
But still inviolate the mountain stands
With head enskied, crowned with unconquered stars.
First published in The Bulletin, 12 October 1932
Him whom we loved, the spirit Titan-large,
With thoughts that strained within the bounded clay
To infinites beyond earth's hidden marge:
Hostage of sadness, mighty soul confined
In oubliettes of gloom and pain apart,
Till death's last ransom freed the restless mind
And stilled the passion of that fiery heart.
No more shall he return, trembling, from tryst
With Beauty, held remote from the world's throng,
And from her fervent lips divinely kist
Draw forth his syllables of timeless song.
To him her lucid loveliness she hated
In forest dells and legended romance,
So that he wandered all his days, ensnared
By questing dreams, illumed with mystic trance.
His spirit, like a mountain high, august,
Clove with its sharp desires the sky's blue rim,
And sombre crags of wisdom strong out-thrust
Above the depths with light's excess grown dim.
The sun's white arrows pierce the serried trees,
And splintered fall athwart the mauve-splashed boles
To mingle with dark-frondaged mysteries,
The shine and shadow of his changing souls.
There far below the abyss, runnels plash
In rippling melodies, and waterfalls
Flute rondos of delight, till drowned by clash
Of thunder echoing from the mountain walls.
With night come chants of doom, while demon bands
Hold cloudy revel under red-eyed Mars;
But still inviolate the mountain stands
With head enskied, crowned with unconquered stars.
First published in The Bulletin, 12 October 1932
