The river crept into the earth
To soothe her mourning sands,
While maidens grimly paced the banks
With wild, wine-stained hands

Our sun of gods fell on his knees,
The spheres rang with his cry;
Gold horses fled their dusky trail
As heaven shut its eye.

The tide rose up to meet the master,
Headless on the shore:
A bust of marbled ivory,
Pearl orbs that gaze no more

The waves and currents pulsed in time
As past the coves he crept
Nymphs dove into the salty sea
Where, open-eyed, they wept

Toward home, to Thrace, the waters surged
With music most discreet
Until, with long-held sigh, they come
To rest before my feet –

I plucked him from his briny bed,
A child reborn of flood,
The master has come home to rest
On lyre stained with blood

And I beheld the mortal muse’s
Lips, though cold as snow,
Grow warm with life, as though to kiss
A bride lost long ago