# The Soul Of A Century/A sun flower

A SUN FLOWER
Over each garden wall and leafy hedge That winds around the huts of railroad guards, Up toward the sky, you raise your golden head To the Sun’s golden cheeks, o floweret.
How fared it then in Hellas long ago, When on Olympus lived the ancient Gods And when, at times, they came to mortal men?
Twos once upon a time, there lived a King Who had two daughters, fairest of the fair And one of these, the gold-haired Clythia, Was loved and loved the young God Hellius, The god who guides the sun’s bright chariot.
But Love is as inconstant as a stream With men at least; and as a further proof Behold the lot of gold-haired Clythia To show that godly lovers are like men. A fair Olympian treads over earthly fields To pass and stoop above a floweret, To pluck and smell and cast away the bloom And quickly looks around for other gems . . .
Clythia’s sister, Helius beheld, The blackhaired, pale and fair Leucothea. ’Twas your misfortune, hapless Clythia, That he behetd her . . . Clythia farewell. His love’s bright rays that were once dear to you Were now to you a torture, for you knew That now they warm your sister’s soft white cheeks And then came dreams ... and then came memories . . . Through these you drank of torment’s bitter draught; And when you passed the places that you knew It felt as if your bare feet slowly trod Across a stubble field where once sweet roses grew.
Then to your father, you sped, Clythia, Complained to him about your sister’s love, And in his rage, the angered aged king Ordered his daughter be entombed alive, The black-haired, pale and fair Leucothea, To still your jealousy and cleanse the family name. Then longingly you waited, Clythia, Upon the hill where once he used to come And had to come . . . The God did not return.
At length you saw his golden chariot Pass gloriously across the grey-blue skies, And you gazed after him so sadly, longingly, That your eyes and head grew feeble with fatigue. He came and passed on toward the distant sea; He went his way . . . but you waited still in vain.
The evening chills cast dew drops in your hair Whose gold was ruffled by the evening winds, But you cared not . . . and waited . . . waited on. You feebly turned your weary, yearning head Yon where the pink-tinged Morning Star prepared To open wide the heaven’s shining gates . . .
Again he rode across the azure path And after him you turned your aching head Trying to capture with a saddened eye Just one bright look from out the skies above. But all in vain . . . . He sped toward the distant sea And disappeared . . . and you waited still in vain.
He pitied you and with compassion which Is only alms for Love that was and fled, He changed you to a golden floweret, The fate of mortals who had aught to do With the Gods who ruled upon Olympus’ heights. But deep within you. Love lived on for e’er; Your golden head kept turning on its stem Seeking your lover’s golden chariot.
O Clythia . . . no longer does he trespass Across the heavens in his chariot, Your faithless lover, light haired Hellius. Though God immortal, he too has passed away,
Olympus is deserted . . . time has fled . . . You know this not and still your golden head Keep looking after the empty chariot. And when it vanishes beyond the mount, You droop your head with yearning, longing, grief. O Clythia, and thus you gaze for ever Over each garden wall and leafy hedge That winds around the huts of railroad guards; A reminder of past times and vanished men, Still rises high the symbol of that love That outlives Men, Eternities and Gods And mutely speaks about its bitter grief.
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