shade,
     Between the beam and the gloom,
     Sicilian Enna, whose Maid
     Such aspect wears in her bloom
     Underneath since the Charioteer
     Of Darkness whirled her away,
     On a reaped afternoon of the year,
     Nigh the poppy-droop of Day. 
     O and naked of her, all dust,
     The majestic Mother and Nurse,
     Ringing cries to the God, the Just,
     Curled the land with the blight of her curse: 
     Recollected of this glad isle
     Still quaking.  But now more fair,
     And momently fraying the while
     The veil of the shadows there,
     Soft Enna that prostrate grief
     Sang through, and revealed round the vines,
     Bronze-orange, the crisp young leaf,
     The wheat-blades tripping in lines,
     A hue unillumined by sun
     Of the flowers flooding grass as from founts: 
     All the penetrable dun
     Of the morn ere she mounts.

     III

     Nor had saffron and sapphire and red
     Waved aloft to their sisters below,
     When gaped by the rock-channel head
     Of the lake, black, a cave at one blow,
     Reverberant over the plain: 
     A sound oft fearfully swung
     For the coming of wrathful rain: 
     And forth, like the dragon-tongue
     Of a fire beaten flat by the gale,
     But more as the smoke to behold,
     A chariot burst.  Then a wail
     Quivered high of the love that would fold
     Bliss immeasurable, bigger than heart,
     Though a God’s:  and the wheels were stayed,
     And the team of the chariot swart
     Reared in marble, the six, dismayed,
     Like hoofs that by night plashing sea
     Curve and ramp from the vast swan-wave: 
     For, lo, the Great Mother, She! 
     And Callistes gazed, he gave
     His eyeballs up to the sight: 
     The embrace of the Twain, of whom
     To men are their day, their night,
     Mellow fruits and the shearing tomb: 
     Our Lady of the Sheaves
     And the Lily of Hades, the Sweet
     Of Enna:  he saw through leaves
     The Mother and Daughter meet. 
     They stood by the chariot-wheel,
     Embraced, very tall, most like
     Fellow poplars, wind-taken, that reel
     Down their shivering columns and strike
     Head to head, crossing throats:  and apart,
     For the feast of the look, they drew,
     Which Darkness no longer could thwart;
     And they broke together anew,
     Exulting to tears, flower and bud. 
     But the mate of the Rayless was grave: 
     She smiled like Sleep on its flood,
     That washes of all we crave: 
     Like the trance of eyes awake
     And the spirit enshrouded, she cast
     The wan underworld on the lake. 
     They were so, and they passed.

     IV

     He tells it, who knew the law
     Upon mortals:  he stood alive
     Declaring that this he saw: 
     He could see, and survive.