Page:The poems of Robert W. Sterling, 1916.djvu/28

The Burial of Sophocles Ah! surely there is wonder and strange stir

Amid Earth's guardian gods, when the last goal

Hath gain'd the crown, and to Earth's sepulchre

We bear the way-worn chariot of the soul!—

And surely here a memory shall last,

In hill and grove and torrent, of this day,

For bards to glean who can: and they shall sing

How the sweet singer pass'd

Forth to his rest with war about his way

And a dread mask of Ares menacing!

Alas! poor city, fate-enshadowèd,

How powerless all thy pride of piety

To give due service to thy poet dead—

Save by the favour of an enemy!—

A bitter hard-won favour; for folks say

Lord Dionysus twice in vision came,

Jealous and wroth, to school Lysander's might,

That, where his fathers lay,

The darling prophet of the god's own flame,

Cradled in calm, should sleep his endless night.

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