Sonnets of the Wingless Hours By Eugene Lee-Hamilton |
 | I. |
| II. |
| ON TWO OF SIGNORELLI'S FRESCOES. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
34
ON TWO OF SIGNORELLI'S FRESCOES.
I.—THE RISING OF THE DEAD.
I saw a vast bare plain, and, overhead,
A half-chilled sun that shed a sickly light;
While far and wide, till out of reach of sight,
The earth's thin crust was heaving with the dead,
A half-chilled sun that shed a sickly light;
While far and wide, till out of reach of sight,
The earth's thin crust was heaving with the dead,
Who, as they struggled from their dusty bed,
At first mere bones, by countless years made white,
Took gradual flesh, and stood all huddled tight
In mute, dull groups, as yet too numb to dread.
At first mere bones, by countless years made white,
Took gradual flesh, and stood all huddled tight
In mute, dull groups, as yet too numb to dread.
And all the while the summoning trump on high
With rolling thunder never ceased to shake
The livid vault of that unclouded sky,
With rolling thunder never ceased to shake
The livid vault of that unclouded sky,
Calling fresh hosts of skeletons to take
Each his identity; until well-nigh
The whole dry worn-out earth appeared to wake.
Each his identity; until well-nigh
The whole dry worn-out earth appeared to wake.
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II.—THE BINDING OF THE LOST.
In monstrous caverns, lit but by the glare
From pools of molten stone, the lost are pent
In silent herds,—dim, shadowy, vaguely blent,
Yet each alone with his own black despair;
From pools of molten stone, the lost are pent
In silent herds,—dim, shadowy, vaguely blent,
Yet each alone with his own black despair;
While, through the thickness of the lurid air,
The flying fiends, from some far unseen vent,
Bring on their bat-wing'd backs, in swift descent,
The souls who swell the waiting myriads there.
The flying fiends, from some far unseen vent,
Bring on their bat-wing'd backs, in swift descent,
The souls who swell the waiting myriads there.
And then begins the binding of the lost
With snaky thongs, before they be transferred
To realms of utter flame or utter frost;
With snaky thongs, before they be transferred
To realms of utter flame or utter frost;
And, like a sudden ocean boom, is heard,
Uprising from the dim and countless host,
Pain's first vague roar, Hell's first wild useless word.
Uprising from the dim and countless host,
Pain's first vague roar, Hell's first wild useless word.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |