"hylas" poems
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring
To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter’s child no more hath tithe of sheaves,
And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,
For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning
By secret glade and devious haunt is o’er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary’s son is King.
And yet—perchance in this sea-tranced isle,
Chewing the bitter fruit of memory,
Some God lies hidden in the asphodel.
Ah Love! if such there be, then it were well
For us to fly his anger: nay, but see,
The leaves are stirring: let us watch awhile.
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I have no store
Of gryphon-guarded gold;
Now, as before,
Bare is the shepherd’s fold.
Rubies nor pearls
Have I to gem thy throat;
Yet woodland girls
Have loved the shepherd’s note.
Then pluck a reed
And bid me sing to thee,
For I would feed
Thine ears with melody,
Who art more fair
Than fairest fleur-de-lys,
More sweet and rare
Than sweetest ambergris.
What dost thou fear?
Young Hyacinth is slain,
Pan is not here,
And will not come again.
No horned Faun
Treads down the yellow leas,
No God at dawn
Steals through the olive trees.
Hylas is dead,
Nor will he e’er divine
Those little red
Rose-petalled lips of thine.
On the high hill
No ivory dryads play,
Silver and still
Sinks the sad autumn day.
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I was still feeding when the book was shut, I was reading!!
Is that what the fly was thinking to itself,
it got stuck at 'quibbling', the least appealing word
in a book on problems of philosophy.
Were you attracted to the two b's
I'm sorry, I didn't notice you
But you died by the words of a profound thinker
He'd have been proud to know you landed on
Philonous' dialogue with Hylas.
I'm sorry, I didn't see you fly by
you didn't die, in my mind. But
it is your mind that matters
if you were paying attention to Philonous.
You were most certainly a fruit fly
sorry I squished you
were you after the fruit of wisdom
I tried to flick you, but you stayed stuck
I admire you for sticking by words
You mean something to me, now that you
are dead, I think.
But that means you are alive in my mind
This is an ode to you
the wisest of flies
You ate the fruit, that hides in plain sight
humans are flies are humans
we seek the fruit that diminishes
gives us the feeling it nourishes
not the fruit that grows when it falls
its the fruit of knowledge you sought
this is an ode to you fly and fruit you sought.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
I am Hylas
and my voice is the echo,
my desire is the spring
and my mind is the bronze pitcher
that I have desperately filled with you
And how I long to tumble clumsily
in the throes of wine drunk love,
with you, my ever present but distant nymph;
forever in wonder of the parallels of myth
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC