When I had dimm'd thy shield with kissing it,
I went between the olives to the stalls;
White Audax neigh'd out to me as I came,
As I had been Hippona to his eyes;
New dazzling from the one, small, mystic cloud
That like a silver chariot floated low
In the ripe blue of noon, and seem'd to pause,
Stay'd by the hilly round of yon aged tree.
He stretch'd the ivory arch of his vast neck,
Smiting sharp thunders from the marble floor
With hoofs impatient of a peaceful earth;
Shook the long silver of his burnish'd mane,
Until the sunbeams smote it into light,
Such as a comet trails across the sky.
I love him, Curtius! Such magnanimous fires
Leap from his eyes. I do truly think
That with thee seated on him, thy strong knees
Against his sides--the bridle in his jaws
In thy lov'd hand, to pleasure thee he'd spring
Sheer from the verge of Earth into the breast
Of Death and Chaos--of Death and Chaos!--
What omens seem to strike my soul to-day?
What is there in this blossom hour should knit
An omen in with ev'ry simple word?
Should make yon willows with their hanging locks
Dusk sybils, mutt'ring sorrows to the air?
The roses clamb'ring round yon marble Pan,
Wave like red banners floating o'er the dead?
The dead--there 'tis again. My Curtius, come
And thou shalt tell me of the Oracles
And what sent hither that long cry of woe.
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