“Knight’s helmet and hunter’s horn, Wise words of those grown old, Rage between brothers, The lute-playing of women’s souls. Branch upon branch urged on, Nowhere disentangled ... One is free! Oh, climb! ... oh, climb! ... Ah, but they break off. Yet one, reaching the top, bends Into a lyre.” DivinityOrpheusEphemeralityDivine MusicYet Do I Marvel Book:Sonnets to Orpheus Source: Sonnets to Orpheus