(Samain) Antigone

Man, punished by the gods because he found,
And like Jocasta's lord in misery,
Tired of the seething sky, from age to age will bound
And each night ask if he's arrived.

But guiding his baton that wrecks upon the pavement
His daughter flickers by his side, veiled and chaste,
And faithfully accompanies, for pure contrast,
The ancient poverty for which his eyes were lashed.

Through the stone cities and the long districts
They pass; tending a hand, every night,
At the cross-roads the blond eyed virgin asks

For alms: and nothing is more sacred than the eyeless
Ancient king, who approaches us from the deep past,
For whom our hearts still suffer, skip a beat

While she sustains him always, the divine Antigone.