Orphée. Orpheus

ORPHEUS

... I compose in the mind, under myrtles, Orpheus The Admirable!... The flame, of pure chaos descends; It changes the bare mountain to majestic trophy From where the act of a god rises up resounding.

If the god sings, he breaks the omnipotent site; The sun sees the horror of the movement of the stones; A moaning unprecedented calls up dazzlingly The high harmonious walls of a golden shrine.

He sings, on the brink of the splendid sky, Orpheus! The rock moves, and stumbles; and each enchanted stone Feels in itself a new weight towards the frenzied blue!

A half-finished Temple evening bathes as it grows, Which gathers itself and orders itself in the gold For the boundless soul of the great hymn on the lyre!