Let Me

Let me Be another Prometheus who slept Dreamt the sweet dreams of the gods As he desired As he had willed He fell then asleep from hidden Morpheus And over his brain and closed eyes Made her palm Mnemosyne: Let me Let me Let me another Prometheus be Who swept in the sweet lap of the gods And in the dream there came The messengers of the Gods and they Tied him Softly Softly With chains of roses sweet that with Minutes transformed Into iron-clad chains of measures grim. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. II Across the sacred mountain that There was Planted by the hands of Jove himself In a secret desolate spot of Earth Where human institutions feared Ascent Here in sleep The gods by divine hands and aerial Flight Transported hummock-like Sleeping Prometheus Asleep still Still in his desires burning Still. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. III In the cold blizzards of gales With snow particles combined Prometheus the hot asleep Outside the cold raw and savage Sings Inside the warmth, the passion, The desires, The tearing to and fro, Mixing of human and divine Sacred ire. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. IV Ahi! Ahi! Our emotions are the emotions Of the divine too And the divine to human emotions Transform as easily: The twilight beauty of the stunned seas And gargling waters of red dusk As easy string Into the emotions of Minerva as She white-toga reclining over The bastions sings Overlooking the scented seas and Magic winds. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. V A man in chains and yet in dreams He free Wanders through out the gardens That Beauty set For him Wanders amazed with eyes as Innocent As child's returning swift Unto the ancestral halls where First his brain begins. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. VI A man whose looks into the magic Dream Imperial over the swards below Look A man whose brains in their Conscious knowledge Of all around Feed and transform into Sub-conscious to the ground Where million angels in blue Habits Donned Sing in clusters of white choirs All around. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. VII Beauty wreaks so Beauty works so I hear the scent As sweetest music notes In some Venetian street Benighted full: Where sings a violin I smell the sounds The notes of turbulent passion Borne Distilled into a sperm-jar in The clouds That round about enclose Their arms And turn and freeze. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. VIII Not few, yet not so many The chosen messengers That Beauty chooses for her Tasks: That Beauty for her missions Sends: Not as stars that so numerous Line In the nocturnal lights of dark Their visage white Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. IX Youth's beauty in the ages of The old As clouds of fire long Remained Amidst the clouds of snow And raging gales: And chill And frost By slow degrees it turned to Tempest tossed. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. X So let So let Prometheus sleep See! The gods to lower Earth From the supernal spheres They carry him aback Dawn is fast already on her wings And within hours few Returns to sing. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning. XI So Woke Prometheus. No chains but just the dream That by his side smiled Erect stood A statue of Beauty The new Dawn. Strawberry mornings, deep in to The glades where mists are Warring; raspberry chants of Birds just dawn-awaken; Nymphs with scant of dress Yet beauty in increasing: Scents that arise from jars of Cassia and of night jaws still Fresh in the dawning. Glades whose brains are high Over the snow-topped mountains Vales where rapid streamlets Glancing. And in the early morn small figures Shadowy and grey all dancing. Sing! Sing! Loosen your tongue Poet Seer the wine is here Sip and be not parched: ‘tis morning.