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THE TOWER OF THE SUN
Away beyond the world's far edge, And where the heavens end, The tower of the sun shines bright Dazzling the mortal's mind.
Once mighty princes, sons of kings, Went on a chase most wonderful, And stopped at the Sun's tower.
And the Sun came, the dragon star, The giant merciless!
Woe unto him who lingers there By the far heavens' end!
And the Sun came; and with his spell, He turned them into stones, The princely hunters, sons of kings!
No azure field, no streak of green, No shadow, and no breath!
Only a death of light and lightning Glitters about and gleams!
And in the tower, in and out, As if by masters set, A world of statues voiceless stand, The offsprings of great kings.
And from their deep and smothered eyes, Something like living glance Struggles to peep through its stone veil!
It seems the stone-bound princes Wait for a sail, long lingering, From the world's sh.o.r.es away.
And thou, O princess beautiful, Camest from far away, A fair Redeemer! The Sun's tower Gleamed forth as if the light Of a new Dawn embraced its walls.
Thou knowest where Life's Fountain Flows, and thou searchest silently, With steps that slowly move Towards the fountain tower-guarded where Life's water flows. And lo, Taming the watchful dragon's fangs, Thou drawest from the fountain Where the sweet water of Life flows on; And sprinkling them with it, Thou wakest up the sons of kings!
And on thy homeward trail, Thou shinest with transcending gleam, Like a far greater Sun!
A MOURNING SONG
No! Death cannot have taken thee!
In the sweet hour of love, The Sun-G.o.d lifted thee away, O child of sunlike beauty!
He took thee to his palaces To fill thee with his love, A love that lives in light and is An endless glittering!
Flowers with light-born fragrances And fruits as sweet as light, The Sun will pluck for thee; and he Will bathe thee in a stream Flooded with light. And clad In a white robe of light, my child, Thou wilt come back to me, Riding on a star-crowned deer!
PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN
Each time the dawn reveals thy face, Each time the darkness hides thee, Before the eyes of all the world, In crimson red thou shinest, Father and G.o.d blood-revelling!
A bath in blood immortalizes Thine unfathomed beauty!
Blood feeds and veils thee, Father And G.o.d blood-revelling!
To quench thy thirst, we offer thee Our only children's lives; And if their blood fills not thy thirst, We spread for thee a sea Of all the blood of our own heart!
THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN
Where temples sounded with hosannas, Stones lie dumb in crumbling ruins; And forgetfulness has swept Dreams and phantoms once called G.o.ds.
Even you are gone, O myths, Golden makers of the thought, Gone beyond return!
In the empty Infinite, Blind laws drive in mult.i.tudes Flaming worlds of endless depths.
And yet neither gold-haired Phoebus, Who is dead, nor yet the sun, Who now lives a world-abyss, None, G.o.d or law, upon this earth Could save us or will ever save Either from the claws of love Or from the teeth of death!
MOLOCH
Barbarians defile the land Where the Greek race was born!
And where the loves flew garlanded, Night-bats roam to and fro!
And in our night, as a glowworm, The ancients' memory Sends forth its greenish counterfeit Of light! It is a night That our undying sun cannot Dispel with its bright beams!
From depths and heights, barbarians Suck soul and fatherland!
And when with a low moan thrice-deep, We ask thee, Grecian G.o.d, "Art thou the golden-haired Apollo?"
Grimly thou answerest, "Moloch, am I!"
ALL THE STARS
When I first looked with wonderment On thee, O Muse of Light, The morning star upon thy brow Shone with bright glittering.
And I said: "More of light I need!"
And as I looked again On thee, O Muse of Light, the moon Shone brightly on thy brow.
And "More!" I said and looked again: And saw the sun agleam!
But still insatiate I am, And wait to look on thee When on thy brow, O Muse of Light, The star-spun sky shall shine!
ARROWS
Thou earnest, Phoebus, lower down From pure Olympus' heights Towards the land where idle men And sluggards worthless dwell; And on thy lyre thou playedst, Fountain Of flowing harmonies!
The deaf made answer with their sneers!
The blind, with scornful laughter!
And then to rid the world of filth And purify the air, Thou threwest away thine angry lyre; And turning archer, thou, With fiery arrows smotest all The flocks of fools away!
VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE 1900
_THE BEGINNING_
