SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF CHAOS

THE staring vessels of these worlds no wine Of Life refills, no seeds of potent change. So may Death's pale and lingering weeds entwine These hollow globes that still unhindered range Through Heaven. O famished Time! thy jaws devour The suns and slumbers of the broken spheres, Whose knell young stars have heard, whose rounded hour Strikes, and is buried in thy bourneless years. They glow like fevered jewels in the deeps, Like sullen embers in remorseless Night, Like flowers with'ring when the Winter creeps With iron dews their little lives to blight. Since recordless immensities of Time I stand whose ne'er-sealed eyes the birth behold Of worlds dream-born,--their fiery infant clime, Their teeming life, their epochs gray and cold, Peace kiss and blot their tarnished light and close Their leaden urns with gentleness. I shed The ashes of my silence on their snows,--  Then waft them to my kingdoms of the dead.

Through the doomed Sun runs a tremor from core to crust. There is a faltering in his flight.

His vassal globes roll on, disturbed and bleak.

The Lord of Day shakes upon his central seat and turns up his hectic front in dumb questionings of despair. He yearns for sleep to seal his kingly eye.

The calcined wounds upon him are like many mouths. They roll forth trembling thunder.

And now is heard the voice of the Sun in agony:

 

 

 

 

SONG OF THE SUN

WEARY am I at last! weary am I! Shall the old eons bring me no repose? Oh, in long-promised slumbers once to lie And feel the films of sleep mine eyelids close! Oh, once to lave my burning head in Night--  Blest Night! my planets joy thee--every one! Perish, fatigueless Fire! and thou, O Light! Vanish. Go leave your emperor, your Sun! For I am done with blessings scattered wide Throughout the waste, oppressive Universe, And yonder fading Earth-globe, once my bride, Becomes to me a burden and a curse. No more she smiles for 

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