The Sibyl

Everywhere men were hurrying.
Where are they going, I asked.
To their deaths. The reply blew
Like a foul wind, and rankled
The grey-green reeds. The slimy swamp
Caked my ankles and I thought I felt,
Just brushing the slight of my skin,
The curve of blood-red talons.
I screamed and ran, but a restraining hand
Held me back, a bar of ice as white
As all the air was dark with shadows, black
As the gaping maws, the grinning caverns,
The skeletal hands stretched and groaning
On crude and tortured iron racks,
Struck me at my height, and held me back.
By the creatures of day, by lakes
That glimmer with crystal light
And the tidy waves and those that graze
On green shoots of fresh grass;
By the blue, blue flowers that dance
In the flowing rays, and listen to the slight murmur
Of wind that plays the clinking brass, I beg you
By whatever love and sentiment you feel,
Burning deep in your soul, dispel these shadows,
Give me heat, the licking tongues of yellow flames:
If only to consume this darkness, if only to plunge
Headlong into light like a moth into a bright
Burning candle; the white splits
Like love into its lovely lays.
But icy fingers gripped me, my shoulders, and caressed
My stomach; I felt the creeping locks
Shiver on my chest. The dripping drool of want
Dribbled from my breast, and convulsed my stomach,
Paralyzed my legs. Then a strong wind came,
The reeds, like bacchantes in a frenzy, rose and fell
Like hairs that clench and shiver with the cold
Of first snows on brazen flesh. I heard the chains
Whispering sorrows, clacking iron on the rock,
And grasping round my ankles, pulling, tugging
In the dark and loneliness the wrapping limbs.
You will never escape. This pit
Is sordid darkness. You and all you know
Are cursed with blackness ‘til your last
And feeble breath. Try as you might, these weakling arms
Will never spread fresh wings, and never will you gleam
In sun-drenched skies, and drink in perfumed days.