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ÉASTRE
I, who am ever young,
Am she whom Earth hath sung
From the far ages when from death awaking
She felt the dawn of life within her breaking—
A strange and inexperienced delight—
That warned the desert places of her night,
And, after bondage long,
Left her divinely free
To worship with an ecstasy,
Voiceless, that yet was song!
I am that she, Astarte named,
By proud Phœnicia and Assyria claimed,
Adored by Babylon and Naucratis.
From the moon, my throne of bliss,
On famed Hieropolis
Where stood my temple sanctified and hoary,
I poured such floods of silver glory
That mortals—blest my palest beams to see—
Fell prone upon the earth and worshiped me!
I am Aurora—goddess of the dawn!
To heaven in my orient car updrawn,
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