XLVII
- Who even dead, yet hath his mind entire!
- This sound came in the dark
- First must thou go the road
- to hell
- And to the bower of Ceres’ daughter Proserpine,
- Through overhanging dark, to see Tiresias,
- Eyeless that was, a shade, that is in hell
- So full of knowing that the beefy men know less than he,
- Ere thou come to thy road’s end.
- Knowledge the shade of a shade,
- Yet must thou sail after knowledge
- Knowing less than drugged beasts. phtheggometha
- thasson
- φθεγγώμεθα θασσον
- The small lamps drift in the bay
- And the sea’s claw gathers them.
- Neptunus drinks after neap-tide.
- Tamuz! Tamuz!!
- The red flame going seaward.
- By this gate art thou measured.
- From the long boats they have set lights in the water,
- The sea’s claw gathers them outward.
- Scilla’s dogs snarl at the cliff’s base,
- The white teeth gnaw in under the crag,
- But in the pale night the small lamps float seaward
- Τυ Διώνα
- TU DIONA
- Και Μοῖραἰ Ἄδονιν
- Kai MOIRAI’ ADONIN
- The sea is streaked red with Adonis,
- The lights flicker red in small jars.
- Wheat shoots rise new by the altar,
- flower from the swift seed.
- Two span, two span to a woman,
- Beyond that she believes not. Nothing is of any importance.
- To that is she bent, her intention
- To that art thou called ever turning intention,
- Whether by night the owl-call, whether by sap in shoot,
- Never idle, by no means by no wiles intermittent
- Moth is called over mountain
- The bull runs blind on the sword, naturans
- To the cave art thou called, Odysseus,
- By Molü hast thou respite for a little,
- By Molü art thou freed from the one bed
- that thou may’st return to another
- The stars are not in her counting,
- To her they are but wandering holes.
- Begin thy plowing
- When the Pleiades go down to their rest,
- Begin thy plowing
- 40 days are they under seabord,
- Thus do in fields by seabord
- And in valleys winding down toward the sea.
- When the cranes fly high
- think of plowing.
- By this gate art thou measured
- Thy day is between a door and a door
- Two oxen are yoked for plowing
- Or six in the hill field
- White bulk under olives, a score for drawing down stone,
- Here the mules are gabled with slate on the hill road.
- Thus was it in time.
- And the small stars now fall from the olive branch,
- Forked shadow falls dark on the terrace
- More black than the floating martin
- that has no care for your presence,
- His wing-print is black on the roof tiles
- And the print is gone with his cry.
- So light is thy weight on Tellus
- Thy notch no deeper indented
- Thy weight less than the shadow
- Yet hast thou gnawed through the mountain,
- Scylla’s white teeth less sharp.
- Hast thou found a nest softer than cunnus
- Or hast thou found better rest
- Hast’ou a deeper planting, doth thy death year
- Bring swifter shoot?
- Hast thou entered more deeply the mountain?
- The light has entered the cave. Io! Io!
- The light has gone down into the cave,
- Splendour on splendour!
- By prong have I entered these hills:
- That the grass grow from my body,
- That I hear the roots speaking together,
- The air is new on my leaf,
- The forked boughs shake with the wind.
- Is Zephyrus more light on the bough, Apeliota
- more light on the almond branch?
- By this door have I entered the hill.
- Falleth,
- Adonis falleth.
- Fruit cometh after. The small lights drift out with the tide,
- sea’s claw has gathered them outward,
- Four banners to every flower
- The sea's claw draws the lamps outward.
- Think thus of thy plowing
- When the seven stars go down to their rest
- Forty days for their rest, by seabord
- And in valleys that wind down toward the sea
- Και Μοῖραἰ Ἄδονιν
- KAI MOIRAI’ ADONIN
- When the almond bough puts forth its flame,
- When the new shoots are brought to the altar,
- Τυ Διώνα, Και Μοῖραἰ
- TU DIONA, KAI MOIRAI
- Και Μοῖραἰ Ἄδονιν
- KAI MOIRAI’ ADONIN
- that hath the gift of healing,
- that hath the power over wild beasts.