THE DESCENT FROM DELPHI

Dawn, pallid and cold, Parnassos, grave in the mist Like the shrouded form of a priest; No light in the East, Save thin stars, worn and old. Under the “Shining Ones” The temple-steps, in white, Chromatic, gleaming, light, Mount to the stadion’s Oval of crumbling stones. Dawn, stealthy and still, Frostily fills the fields, Dew sprinkles the maize; Where ranging cattle graze, His pipe a shepherd plays. Sun, striking the snow On far off mountain height,— Day, solemn and slow, Rises from Long Ago Clothed in pure samite. A scarlet rug in a field; A man and a woman asleep— Around them, dogs and sheep, Where the maize is quivering gold, As the broad day is unrolled. The man and the woman asleep— Alone in the Delphian field! And the world, once more revealed Young, and all time is healed The Oracle unsealed!