The Interlude

It was upon a night of spring, Even the time when first do sing The new-returned nightingales; Whenas all hills and woods and dales Are resonant with melody Of songs that die not, but shall be Unto the latest hour of time Beyond the life of word or rime— Whenas all brooks more softly flow Remembering lovers long ago That stood upon their banks and vowed, And love was with them like a cloud: There came one out of Athens town In a spun robe, with sandals brown, Just when the white ship of the moon Had first set sail, and many a rune Was written in the argent stars; His feet were set towards the hills Because he knew that there the rills Ran down like jewels, and fairy cars Galloped, maybe, among the dells, And airy sprites wove fitful spells Of gossamer and cold moonshine Which do most mistily entwine: And ever the hills called, and a voice Cried: "Soon, maybe, comes thy choice Twixt mortal immortality Such as shall never be again, 'Twixt the most passionate-pleasant pain And all the quiet, barren joys That old men prate about to boys."

He wandered many nights and days— Whose morns were always crystal clear, As lay the world in still amaze Enchanted of the springing year, And all the nights with wakeful eyes Watched for another dawn to rise— Till at the last the mountain tops Received him, which like giant props Stand, lest the all-encircling sky Fall down, and men be crushed and die. And so he reached a curved hill Whereon the horned moon did seem Her richest radiance to spill In an inestimable stream, Like jewels rare of countless price, Or wizard magic turned to ice.

And as he reached the topmost crest of it, Lo! the Olympian majesties did sit In a most high and passionless conclave: They ate ambrosia with their deathless lips, And ever and anon the golden wave Flowed of the drink divine, which only strips This mortal frame of its mortality. And there, and there was Aphrodite, she That is more lovely than the golden dawn And from a ripple of the sea was born: And there was Hera, the imperious queen, And Dian's chastity, that hunts unseen What time with spring the woodland boughs are green: And there was Pan with mirth and pleasantness, And Eros' self that never knew distress Save for the love of the fair Cretan maid; There Hermes with the wings of speed arrayed, And awful Zeus, the king of gods and men, And ever at his feet Apollo sang A measure of changing harmonies that rang From that high mountain over all the world, And all the sails of fighting ships were furled, And men drew breath, and there was peace again. But him that saw, the sight like flame Or depths of waters overcame: He swooned, nor heard how ceased the choir Of strings upon Apollo's lyre, Nor saw he how the sweet god stood And smiled on him in kindly mood, And stooped, and kissed him as he lay; Then lightly rose and turned away To join the bright immortal throng And make for them another song.