Say not, O Swallow, in thy flight
To that dear country of my birth
(Where I shall come no day nor night)
That I have married the Black Earth.

But say that where sands glisten white,
Thou didst behold a builded pyre,
And witnessed how, with all due rite,
I there was wedded unto Fire.

For so went many a hero-sire
Of mine, in time long out of mind,
And had his full and free desire
To tread along the trackless wind.

A little band on some lone shore,
They offered up a hecatomb;
And while dark wine they did outpour
Rose flame to its empyreal home.

Oh, Fire, my bride, will challenge him —
Charos, the foe that Psyche loathes,
Nor leaves within his chamber dim
One shred wherewith my life now clothes!