Tithonus (Alfred Tennyson)
The woods decay, the woods decay
and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and
tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the
swan.
Me only cruel immortality Consumes;
I wither slowly in thine
arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
A white-hair'd shadow roaming
like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and
gleaming halls of morn.
Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man--
So
glorious in his beauty and thy choice,
Who madest him thy chosen, that he
seem'd
To his great heart none other than a God!
I ask'd thee, "Give me
immortality."
Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,
Like
wealthy men who care not how they give.
But thy strong Hours indignant
work'd their wills,
And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,
And tho'
they could not end me, left me maim'd
To dwell in presence of immortal
youth,
Immortal age beside immortal youth,
And all I was in ashes. Can
thy love
Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now,
Close over us, the
silver star, thy guide,
Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with
tears
To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift:
Why should a man desire
in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal
of ordinance
Where all should pause, as is most meet for all ?
A soft air
fans the cloud apart; there comes
A glimpse of that dark world where I was
born.
Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals
From any pure brows,
and from thy shoulders pure,
And bosom beating with a heart renew'd.
Thy
cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom,
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close
to mine,
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team
Which love thee,
yearning for thy yoke, arise,
And shake the darkness from their loosen'd
manes,
And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.
Lo! ever thus thou
growest beautiful
In silence, then before thine answer given
Departest,
and thy tears are on my cheek.
Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy
tears,
And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,
In days far-off, on that
dark earth, be true ?
"The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts."
Ay
me! ay me! with what another heart
In days far-off, and with what other
eyes
I used to watch if I be he that watch'd
The lucid
outline forming round thee; saw
The dim curls kindle into sunny
rings;
Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood
Glow with the
glow that slowly crimson'd all
Thy presence and thy portals, while I
lay,
Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm
With kisses balmier than
half-opening buds
Of April, and could hear the lips that
kiss'd
Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,
Like that strange
song I heard Apollo sing,
While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.
Yet
hold me not for ever in thine East;
How can my nature longer mix with
thine?
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold
Are all thy lights, and
cold my wrinkled feet
Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the
steam
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes
Of happy men that
have the power to die,
And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Release
me, and restore me to the ground;
Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my
grave:
Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn;
I earth in earth forget
these empty courts,
And thee returning on thy silver wheels.
last changes 28.06.2008, Peter Schmieder