Page:Choëphoroe (Murray 1923).djvu/23

Rh The pleasure of them that rule, and speechless hold

The ache of a heart that rageth in the dust.

Only behind the fold

Of this still veil for a little I hide my face

And weep for the blind doings of this race,

And secret tears are in my heart, ice-cold.

Ye thrallèd women, tirers of the bower,

Since ye are with me in this suppliant hour,

Your escort giving, give your counsel too.

What speech have I for utterance, when I sue

With offerings to the dead? What word of love,

What prayer to reach my father from above?

"To dear Lord," shall I say, "due gifts I bear

From loving mistress" when they come from her?

I dare not. And I cannot find the word

To speak, when offerings like these are poured.

Or shall I pray him, as men's custom is,

To send to them who pay these offices

Requital due for murder and for pride?

Or, as in silence and in shame he died,

In shame and silence shall I pour this urn

Of offering to the dust, and pouring turn,

As men cast out some foulness they abhor,

And fling the cup, and fly, and look no more?

Share with me, Friends, this burden of strange thought.

One hate doth make us one. Oh, hide not aught

For fear of what may fall us! Destiny

Waiteth alike for them that men call free,

And them by others mastered. At thine ease

Speak, if thou knowcst of wiser words than these.