. . .Of Sleep, a cave devoid of light or air,
Paved with strange shapes and horrid phantasies
Inanimate and senseless, and they rise,
As through the cave’s dark mouth the music sweet
Fills to the inmost parts that foul retreat,
Crying for air to breathe and light to see
The wondrous worker of such harmony.
Pluto’s high throne within the distance looms,
Built of the gold and marble of men’s tombs
Upon a base of bones, and by its side
Stood the pale throne of his beloved bride,
Persephone.—Behind her shadowy seat
Shone one blue star and at its cloud-hid feet
Glared the red oval of the waning moon
That tells sage shepherds of a storm in June
When flocks grow restless.—When the player came
Nearer to that great place a sudden flame
Shot from the silent air, and blazed as fierce{7}
As though a thousand lightning strokes would pierce
In one vast sheet of overwhelming fireRead More