THE pure air trembles, O pitiless God, The air aches with flame on these gaunt rocks Over the flat sea's face, the forest Shakes in gales of piercing light. But the altars are behind and higher Where the great hills raise naked heads, Pale agonists in the reverberance Of the pure air and the pitiless God. On the domed skull of every hill Who stand blazing with spread vans, The arms uplifted, the eyes in ecstasy? What wine has the God drunk, to sing Violently in heaven, what wine his worshipers Whose silence blazes? The light that is over Light, the terror of noon, the eyes That the eagles die at, have thrown down Me and my pride, here I lie naked In a hollow of the shadowless rocks, Full of the God, having drunk fire. |