Starved Rock

Name: Starved Rock
Author: Masters, Edgar Lee
Masters, Edgar Lee
American poetry
Thyamis, a gallant of Memphis,
    Where melons were served
    Iced with snow from the Mountains of the Moon;
    Thyamis, a philanderer in Alexandris
    Rich in parchments and terebinth,
    Lies here in the museum.
    His lips are brown as peach leather,
    Through which his teeth are sticking,
    White as squash seeds.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Knowing that he must die and leave her
    He slew the lovely Chariclea
    Who sailed with him on the Nile
    Under the moon of Egypt.
    This is the body of Chariclea
    Undesiring the arms of Thyamis.
    This is the remnant of Chariclea,
    Wrapped in a gunny sack,
    Rotted with gums and balsams.

       *       *       *       *       *

    As the sands of the desert are stirred
    By the wind when the sun sets,
    The open door of the museum
    Lets in the wind to shake
    The cerements of Chariclea,
    And the stray hairs on the forsaken head
    Of Thyamis.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Of desire long dead;
    Of a murder done in the days of Pharaoh;
    Of Thyamis dying who took to death
    The lovely Chariclea;
    Of Chariclea who shrank
    From the love death of Thyamis
    The multitude passes, unknowing.

       *       *       *       *       *




          I SHALL GO DOWN INTO THIS LAND


    I shall go down into this land
    Of the great Northwest:
    This land of the free ordinance,
    This land made free for the free
    By the patriarchs.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Shall it be Michigan,
    Or Illinois,
    Or Indiana?
    These are my people,
    These are my lovers, my friends--
    Mingle my dust with theirs,
    Ye sacred powers!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Clouds, like convoys on infinite missions,
    Bound for infinite harbors
    Float over the length of this land.
    And in the centuries to come
    The rocks and trees of this land will turn,
    These fields and hills will turn
    Under unending convoys of clouds--
    O ye clouds!
    Drench my dust and mingle it
    With the dust of the pioneers;
    My mates, my friends,
    Toilers and sufferers,
    Builders and dreamers,
    Lovers of freedom.

       *       *       *       *       *

    O Earth that looks into space,
    As a man in sleep looks up,
    And is voiceless, at peace,
    Divining the secret--
    I shall know the secret
    When I go down into this land
    Of the great Northwest!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Draw my dust
    With the dust of my beloved
    Into the substance of a great rock,
    Upon whose point a planet flames,
    Nightly, in a thrilling moment
    Of divine revelation
    Through endless time!




                   SPRING LAKE

[Greek: Bê de' kat' Oulhympio karhênôn chôomenys kêr.]

                                         --_Iliad._

                         I
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Starved Rock

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