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O you somber

There in myriad ringing notes

O

Cast forth from Crete

As the eleventh hour floats

Abdicate mere merriment

Be fleet

In bending sail with wind of sacrament

Angel of weeping

Mourn now Dionysus as his blossom wilts

Raise your crown and kiss Persephone

Her silver foots procession

Be friendly unto us for we have torn free

Our beards at a season that knows not youth’s possession

Gird our loins incline our ears to listen

To the subtle symmetry of spheres

How the tears they glisten

With the awry wearing of eternal years

Yet the heart is young

Beating fast

Thundering strong

O to last

Our hope is in you – your song

Thumos – hold fast

To you o minstrel at the gate

O solemn master singer

The hour is late

Give us strenth to ever linger

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