 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
114
TO MY TORTOISE ANANKÉ.
Say it were true, that thou outliv'st us all,
O footstool once of Venus; come, renew
Thy tale of old Greek isles, where thy youth grew
In myrtle shadow, near her temple wall;
O footstool once of Venus; come, renew
Thy tale of old Greek isles, where thy youth grew
In myrtle shadow, near her temple wall;
Or tell me how the eagle let thee fall
Upon the Greek bard's head, from heaven's blue,
And Apathy killed Song.—And is it true
That thy domed shell would bear a huge stone ball?
Upon the Greek bard's head, from heaven's blue,
And Apathy killed Song.—And is it true
That thy domed shell would bear a huge stone ball?
O Tortoise, Tortoise, there are weights, alack,
Heavier than stone, and viewless as the air,
Which none have ever tried upon thy back;
Heavier than stone, and viewless as the air,
Which none have ever tried upon thy back;
Which, ever and anon, we men must bear;
Weights which would make thy solid cover crack;
And how we bear them, let those ask who care.
Weights which would make thy solid cover crack;
And how we bear them, let those ask who care.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |