Classic Poem

Down steps Orion to the west,
High-headed, starry-eyed,
Watchful beneath his warrior-crest,
His sword upon his side.

Amid the unnumbered stars of night
He fills his measured space,
And covers under points of light
The fashion of his face.

He makes no gesture, gives no sign;
Yon form is all we know.
So, belt and scabbard used to shine
Millions of years ago.

Upon his brow endures no frown,
No tumult stirs his breast;
In martial stride he still goes down
With all his stars at rest.

Naught can they tell us by their light
What binds them to his car:
There, at the chariot-pole of night
He stands, a shape of war.

When Earth was young and Night was old
That harness he put on,
And girt for war, with nails of gold
The belted warrior shone.

Now to the east he sets his heel,
Or now goes westward bound;
And still, like flies upon his wheel,
The stirless stars move round.

Across the regions of the night,
Across the darkened lands,
He travels on in changeless might,
And none may loose his bands.

Onward he goes with planted heel,
The charioteer of Mars;
The Kingdoms broken on his wheel
Are stirless as the stars.