Oread
Whirl up, sea—
Whirl your pointed pines.
Splash your great pines
On our rocks.
Hurl your green over us—
Cover us with your pools of fir.
This poem is in the public domain.
Light takes new attribute
and yet his old
glory
enchants;
not this,
not this, they say,
lord as he was of the hieratic dance,
of poetry
and majesty
and pomp,
master of shrines and gateways
What they did,
they did for Dionysos,
for ecstasy’s sake:
We flung against their gods,
invincible, clear hate;
we fought;
frantic, we flung the last
imperious, desperate shaft