Orion Dead

[Artemis speaks] The cornel-trees uplift from the furrows, the roots at their bases strike lower through the barley-sprays.

So arise and face me. I am poisoned with the rage of song.

I once pierced the flesh of the wild-deer, now am I afraid to touch the blue and the gold-veined hyacinths?

I will tear the full flowers and the little heads of the grape-hyacinths. I will strip the life from the bulb until the ivory layers lie like narcissus petals on the black earth.

Arise, lest I bend an ash-tree into a taut bow, and slay--and tear all the roots from the earth.

The cornel-wood blazes and strikes through the barley-sprays, but I have lost heart for this.

I break a staff. I break the tough branch. I know no light in the woods. I have lost pace with the winds.