4604009Poems — SemeleRose Terry Cooke

SEMELE.

"For there bee none of those pagan fables in whiche there lyeth not a more subtle meanynge than the extern expression thereof should att once signifye."—Marriages of ye Deade.

     Spirit of light divine!
      Quick breath of power,
     Breathe on these lips of mine,
      Persuade the bud to flower;
Cleave thy dull swathe of cloud! no longer waits the hour.

     Exulting, rapturous flame,
      Dispel the night!
     I dare not breathe thy name,
      I tremble at thy light,
Yet come! in fatal strength,—come, in all matchless might

     Burn, as the leaping fire
      A martyr's shroud;
     Burn, like an Indian pyre,
      With music fierce and loud.
Come Power! Love calls thee,—come, with all the god endowed!

     Immortal life in death,
      On these rapt eyes,
     On this quick, failing breath,"
      In dread and glory rise.
The altar waits thy torch,—come, touch the sacrifice!

     Come! not with gifts of life,
      Not for my good;
     My soul hath kept her strife
      In fear and solitude;
More blest the inverted torch, the horror-curdled blood.

     Better in light to die
      Than silent live;
     Rend from these lips one cry,
      One death-born utterance give,
Then, clay, in fire depart! then, soul, in heaven survive!