Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/87

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PROMETHEUS.
69
Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt:And then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh,A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lipsStiffening in death, close to mine ear. I thoughtSome doom was close upon me, and I lookedAnd saw the red moon through the heavy mist,Just setting, and it seemed as it were falling,Or reeling to its fall, so dim and deadAnd palsy-struck it looked. Then all sounds mergedInto the rising surges of the pines,Which, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt loinsOf ancient Caucasus with hairy strength,Sent up a murmur in the morning wind,Sad as the wail that from the populous earthAll day and night to high Olympus soars,Fit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove!
Thy hated name is tossed once more in scornFrom off my lips, for I will tell thy doom.And are these tears? Nay, do not triumph, Jove!They are wrung from me but by the agoniesOf prophecy, like those sparse drops which fall
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