NOR bloody altar, nor barbaric rite With tresses in a wreath of flowers bound, A fair-hued maid of Ionie moves round Over the moss as the soft strings invite. Nor bloody altar, nor barbaric rite: Blithe songs, blithe laughter where the flowers abound! Nor Pan nor Satyr do the dancers heed. A young man girt with myrtle of sweet balm Leads on the quire whose voices waft the psalm As Eros and the Cyprian goddess plead. Nor Pan nor Satyr do the dancers heed: Smooth-gliding feet, a greensward steeped in balm! Nor storm nor wind to fill the soul with fear. Thro' the blue sky the happy songs fly up, And lovely children bear the brimming cup To elders whom the green boughs over-peer. Nor storm nor wind to fill the soul with fear: A cloudless sky wherethro' the songs fly up! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POETRY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN A SWEDISH GRAVEYARD by EMMA LAZARUS MERELY STATEMENT by AMY LOWELL A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |