Not today, Tantalus, the waters tempt again,
not today, Ixion, the wheel will, burning, turn,
nor even, Tityus, the vulture nips with pain,
nor even, Sisyphus, the stone once rolled returns,
but time itself has stopped. The shadow world is calmed
by power born of lyre that covers all with balm.
And you, O most feared god, on dark and judging throne!
You cannot weep. But look, O god, unto your queen,
who weeps beside your seat. You once were god alone,
and knew the name of loss and felt the longing keen.
Behold, the Furies weep, in tears compassionate,
as scourges lie unused, in sorrows desolate.