Sunday Poem, December 9, 2012
I’m going home in a little over a week now. I can never sleep on planes and tend instead to get bonkers and/or drunk, but I’ll have home people and snow waiting for me, which should help. This isn’t exactly a poem; it’s a song taken out of a novel, but it seemed appropriate.
Then Orpheus sang a song for little Ancaeus alone, of such piercing sweetness that he could not restrain his tears. Ever afterwards at night, during any silent watch when the stars were clear, the words and melody ran in his head:
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half words whispered low;
While the earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
—Robert Graves, The Golden Fleece (1944)