We do not know what bird thou art.Perhaps That fairy bird,fabled in island tale,Who never sings but once,and then his song Is of such fearful beauty that he dies From sheer exuberance of melody.
For this they took thee,little bird,for this They captured thee,tilting among the leaves,And stamped thee for a symbol on this book.
For it contains a song surpassing thine,Richer,more sweet,more poignant.And the poet Who felt this burning beauty,and whose heart Was full of loveliest things,sang all he knew A little while,and then he died;too frail To bear this untamed,passionate burst of song.
Apples of Hesperides Glinting golden through the trees,Apples of Hesperides!
Through the moon-pierced warp of night Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,Swaying to the kissing breeze Swings the treasure,golden-gleaming,Apples of Hesperides!
Far and lofty yet they glimmer,Apples of Hesperides!
Blinded by their radiant shimmer,Pushing forward just for these;Dew-besprinkled,bramble-marred,Poor duped mortal,travel-scarred,Always thinking soon to seize And possess the golden-glistening Apples of Hesperides!
Orbed,and glittering,and pendent,Apples of Hesperides!
Not one missing,still transcendent,Clustering like a swarm of bees.
Yielding to no man's desire,Glowing with a saffron fire,Splendid,unassailed,the golden Apples of Hesperides!
Azure and Gold April had covered the hills With flickering yellows and reds,The sparkle and coolness of snow Was blown from the mountain beds.
Across a deep-sunken stream The pink of blossoming trees,And from windless appleblooms The humming of many bees.
The air was of rose and gold Arabesqued with the song of birds Who,swinging unseen under leaves,Made music more eager than words.