Quests

To reach the other world some sought hemlock

in waste-places: umbels of that small white flower

still sway at eye-level when the eye is still;

and some, at broad sunset, walked the sea-shore

or prayed for their messiah in a darkening house.

But gods had human faces and were flawed.

When prying Apion, with eerie conch,

summoned Homer's spirit to ask where he was born

whose bloody head appeared above the parapet?

Now at this seaport, in its shut museum,

a sculptured satyr on a sculptured sea-horse

blows only silent zeros through his horn.

And here, out of doors, more abundant silence.

Awesome over the sea, from which no sulking Proteus

will rise, the candled stars, the unblinking moon.

Who knows? Not me. Secular, I'll never hear

the spheres, their perfect orchestra, or below,

with joy, old Triton playing out of tune.