The Dead God

ONE star alone on the bier, one only star.
O solitude where a King's glory died
Upon a stake they in the forest hide,
From standards, and the sword, and battles far!

 

The hero without purple passed, but rolled
In faded silk, and in the tresses red
Of concubines and captives: lips that bled,
And bit again, and drank the blood run cold,

 

What kisses did you smile towards? Towards what feasts
Already ring, O women full of lies,
Your chants forgetful! To make weep your eyes
Were needed some great sack by rutting beasts,

 

And cold of clarions tearing the black sky,
For you to twist your bodies and to grieve,
In the red smell of torches in the eve,
Hired mimic mourners under clouds that fly,

 

But no man's gaze hath from the mounted wall
Gathered in greed the flower of your bare arms:
You are fled. The King shall wake at no alarms.
One star, one only star. O royal pall!