Written in Grecian Mood

Once I perched on a rustling olive bough,

Which is still thriving on the jutting cliff

Of a promontory, weathering warlike waves;

Adored by the hyacinth hues,

Yellow bees, yawning breeze,

A wonderful world of trysts:

Where once Aphrodite fondled Aeschines;

Demeter caressed Prince Lasion;

The Amazons played the lyre — cithara,

Made of men's bones,

When women raised the bacchanalian fire;

And Sappho sang songs on love and freedom.

I hovered about the tree,

With undaunted wings,

Defying the hounds of Zeus that once

Devoured Prometheus's immortal liver;

Then, away I flew across the wine-dark sea,

Touching the lofty waves, where Dolphins roved;

Then to a Grecian ship I winged:

Wherein, I saw Medea and Jason,

With other heroes sailing to Greece,

I saw the Golden Fleece,

I foresaw the sinister hiss,

I saw Infidelity and Ire frolicking,

Unknown to them, an unseen tale;

I flew back to the Olive top,

I glanced at the point where

The sea sky shone in one brightness,

Soon, slumber took me in her arms,

And swayed in the world of ungirdled thoughts.