Cassandra

O Hymen king.

   Hymen, O Hymen king,
   what bitter thing is this?
   what shaft, tearing my heart?
   what scar, what light, what fire
   searing my eye-balls and my eyes with flame?
   nameless, O spoken name,
   king, lord, speak blameless Hymen.

   Why do you blind my eyes?
   why do you dart and pulse
 till all the dark is home,
 then find my soul
 and ruthless draw it back?
 scaling the scaleless,
 opening the dark?
 speak, nameless, power and might;
 when will you leave me quite?
 when will you break my wings
 or leave them utterly free
 to scale heaven endlessly?

 A bitter, broken thing,
 my heart, O Hymen lord,
 yet neither drought nor sword
 baffles men quite,
 why must they feign to fear
 my virgin glance?
 feigned utterly or real
 why do they shrink?
 my trance frightens them,
 breaks the dance,
 empties the market-place;
 if I but pass they fall
 back, frantically;
 must always people mock?
 unless they shrink and reel
 as in the temple
 at your uttered will.

 O Hymen king,
 lord, greatest, power, might,
 look for my face is dark,
 burnt with your light,
 your fire, O Hymen lord;
 is there none left
 can equal me
 in ecstasy, desire?
 is there none left
 can bear with me
 the kiss of your white fire?
 is there not one,
 Phrygian or frenzied Greek,
 poet, song-swept, or bard,
 one meet to take from me
 this bitter power of song,
 one fit to speak, Hymen,
 your praises, lord?

 May I not wed
 as you have wed?
 may it not break, beauty,
 from out my hands, my head, my feet?
 may Love not lie beside me
 till his heat
 burn me to ash?
 may he not comfort me, then,
 spent of all that fire and heat,
 still, ashen-white and cool
 as the wet laurels,
 white, before your feet
 step on the mountain-slope,
 before your fiery hand
 lift up the mantle
 covering flower and land,
 as a man lifts,
 O Hymen, from his bride,
 (cowering with woman eyes,) the veil?
 O Hymen lord, be kind.