I am feeling somewhat proud of this old brain of mine. I just reconstructed a lost poem from memory,that Id written more than two decades ago. Here it is: A satyr mourns the death of a nymph: The Legend of Procris and Cephalus. This was inspired by a painting that I saw in the National Gallery in London in about 1989. Heres an image link that I googled of the painting to go with the poem: t2.gstatic/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ6OZn5P7OGyKUt9ULWrsqPspMzWg36BeJYB4qM5MUHhSuPsqpsujVblD7u Heres the poem: Who is this maiden sleeping here ? This beauty she is dead I fear Fair Procris lifeless upon the grass She killed by the dart of Cephalus This foolish knave whose beloved lass he slew For he thought his one fair love untrue And so spied on her to gain some clue To see what doings she may be up to. And so in the bushes Upon one side- So stealthily he did wait and hide Imagining that hed see his unfaithful friend- with friend in passing by But in this state of jealousy The bushes rustled noisily Which gave young Cephalus a start And so he shot forth his poisoned dart It sadly did not miss its mark Now fair Procris lies upon the grass Killed by the dart of Cephalus And Procris as if asleep she makes no sound Upon the green welcoming ground But see who has come to look around But Laelaps, Procris old faithful hound The poor old dog he observed the two Wishing there was something he might do And across the bay, behold the city Issues forth no cry of pity But the daisies in amongst the grass Sing Fair Procris has come to us at last.
Posted on: Sun, 20 Apr 2014 22:01:36 +0000