Orpheus

What Orpheus whistled for Eurydice (While all the shades were silent, achingly Holding out hands, and hands stretched evermore In a vain longing for the further shore).

The blue smoke floats Lazily in the dawn above the white Flat roof you knew, and somewhere out of sight A child is singing the old Linus song, Sweeter because the baby voice goes wrong —The little goatherd calling to her goats.

There’s a small hill On which the olive trees you used to call Athene’s little sisters, now grown tall, Watch all day long the coming of the child, And you’ll remember how the brook, else wild, About these pastures suddenly grows still.

There’s such a peace, Save where a wandering beast shakes on its bell, You’d almost think the trees had learned a spell From their wise sister (or from you) to bless A baby frightened of the loneliness, Tending her herd and waiting by the trees.

Ah! certainly There are two things are stronger than the fates— A lover’s song in Hell, a child that waits. The shadows lengthen. Ere the night descend On earth, O sweetheart, Mother, friend Win out of Hell! Return Eurydice!