 | The poems of Trumbull Stickney |  |
[XV
The immortal mixes with mortality]
The immortal mixes with mortality.The stars are drossed with sod, and yonder moon
Which loved too long the dead Endymion,
As any tiger-lily's petal, now
Drops away, down the purple airs of night.—
299
An earth less arrogant, and higher hills.
Then rattled thunders from a thousand points;
Night, suns, morning and wind; the criss-cross
Of eagles in delirious passage cast
Small shadows on the tempest-hunted cloud.
And there were noises from untravelled shores.
Now nature fills with waning. One by one
Monster and centaur die, and weakening
The lungs of Typhon lift a feeble smoke
From horny-mantled craters by the sea.
Alas! and we! indeed we somehow pass
Within a fatal evening of ourselves.
I feel a time-like tremor in my limbs.
I know my beauty, and I understand
Pleasure, to-morrow, yesterday, and love.—
O had I one like him to gladden me.
Yet would I be alone, for in my breasts
I do believe the milk is not again.
| The poems of Trumbull Stickney | |