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Mortal Summer

Mark Van Doren

9781465655684
188 pages
Library of Alexandria
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Overview
The cave they slept in, halfway down Olympus On the eastern slope, toward Asia, whence the archangels Even then were coming—even then Bright Michael, and tall Gabriel, and the dark-faced Raphael, healer of men’s wounds, were flying, Flying toward the ship all ten would take— The cave they slept in sparkled as their eyelids Opened; burned as they rose and stood; hummed And trembled as the seven, the beautiful gods Gazed at each other, wonderful again. The sweet sleep of centuries was over, If only as in dream; if only a mortal Summer woke them out of endless death. The grey eyes of Athene, flashing slowly, Demanded of Hermes more than he could tell. “It was not I that roused you.” Hermes pondered, Tightening his sandals. “All at once, And equally, we woke. Apollo there—” The musical man-slayer listened and frowned—“And Ares, and foam-loving Aphrodite Yawned at the very instant Artemis did, With me, and swart Hephaestus.” The lame smith, Stroking his leather apron, blinked at the others, Worshipful of brilliance. Even in Ares, Scowling, and more quietly in her The huntress, whose green robe the animals knew, He found it; and of course in Aphrodite, Wife to him once, he found it, a relentless Laughter filling her eyes and her gold limbs. “It was not I,” said Hermes. Thunder sounded, Weakly and far away. And yet no distance Wrapped it. It was here in the lit cavern: Here, or nowhere. And the trembling seven Turned to the rock that sealed a deeper room. There Zeus, there Hera sat, the feasted prisoners Of a still greater person, one who changed The world while there they mourned, remembering Ida. Some day they too would sleep, but now weak thunder Witnessed their remnant glory; which appalled As ever the proud seven, until Hermes Listened and leaned, then spoke.

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