POEMS. THE SPHINX. THE Sphinx is drowsy, She broods on the world. "Who 'll tell me my secret, The ages have kept? I awaited the seer While they slumbered and slept: "The fate of the man-child, The mearing of man; Known fruit of the unknown; Dædalian plan; Out of sleeping a waking, Out of waking a sleep; Life death overtaking; Deep underneath deep? "Erect as a sunbeam, In beautiful motion The thrush plies his wings; Kind leaves of his covert, Your silence he sings. "The waves, unashamed, Firmly draw, firmly drive, "Sea, earth, air, sound, silence, Plant, quadruped, bird, By one music enchanted, One deity stirred, — Night veileth the morning, "But man crouches and blushes, Absconds and conceals; He creepeth and peepeth, Jealous glancing around, "Out spoke the great mother, At the sound of her accents I heard a poet answer Aloud and cheerfully, "Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges Are pleasant songs to me. Deep love lieth under These pictures of time; They fade in the light of Their meaning sublime. "The fiend that man harries Can't trance him again, Which his eyes seek in vain. |