Tithonus

A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

So when the verdure of his life was shed,

With all the grace of ripened manlihead,

And on his locks, but now so lovable,

Old age like desolating winter fell,

Leaving them white and flowerless and forlorn:

Then from his bed the Goddess of the Morn

Softly withheld, yet cherished him no less

With pious works of pitying tenderness;

Till when at length with vacant, heedless eyes,

And hoary height bent down none otherwise

Than burdened willows bend beneath their weight

Of snow when winter winds turn temperate, —

So bowed with years — when still he lingered on:

Then to the daughter of Hyperion

This counsel seemed the best: for she, afar

By dove-gray seas under the morning star,

Where, on the wide world’s uttermost extremes,

Her amber-walled, auroral palace gleams,

High in an orient chamber bade prepare

An everlasting couch, and laid him there,

And leaving, closed the shining doors. But he,

Deathless by Jove’s compassionless decree,

Found not, as others find, a dreamless rest.

There wakeful, with half-waking dreams oppressed,

Still in an aural, visionary haze

Float round him vanished forms of happier days;

Still at his side he fancies to behold

The rosy, radiant thing beloved of old;

And oft, as over dewy meads at morn,

Far inland from a sunrise coast is borne

The drowsy, muffled moaning of the sea,

Even so his voice flows on unceasingly, —

Lisping sweet names of passion overblown,

Breaking with dull, persistent undertone

The breathless silence that forever broods

Round those colossal, lustrous solitudes.

Times change. Man’s fortune prospers, or it falls.

Change harbors not in those eternal halls

And tranquil chamber where Tithonus lies.

But through his window there the eastern skies

Fall palely fair to the dim ocean’s end.

There, in blue mist where air and ocean blend,

The lazy clouds that sail the wide world o’er

Falter and turn where they can sail no more.

There singing groves, there spacious gardens blow —

Cedars and silver poplars, row on row,

Through whose black boughs on her appointed night,

Flooding his chamber with enchanted light,

Lifts the full moon’s immeasurable sphere,

Crimson and huge and wonderfully near.

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Poems in English 

• Федор Сологуб – Слышу голос милой by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Словно лепится сурепица by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Словами горькими надменных отрицаний by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Слепой судьбе противореча by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Сладко мечтается мне by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Скупа Филис, но пыл мятежный by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Скоро солнце встанет by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Под холодною властью тумана by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Под сению креста рыдающая мать by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Под кустами by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Под черёмухой цветущей by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Побеждайте радость by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Плачет безутешная вдова by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Певице by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Моя верховная воля by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Лихо by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Лиловато-розовый закат by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Либава, Либава, товарная душа by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Лежу и дышу осторожно by Фёдор Сологуб
• Федор Сологуб – Лесная тропа by Фёдор Сологуб

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