A Father's Mourning

The bright horses are quiet now, with each head
Bowed to the straw of the soft stable-bed.
They do not remember much of the fear
That consumed me when I saw you sear
Down to the earth. They do not know you dead.

But I do- and whenever I ride the earth,
I must look down at that place barren of mirth,
And barren of itself, for there the sun's fire
Came too close to fulfulling the sun's secret desire-
That the world die of fire as it was born at birth.

I am the rightful charioteer of the sun,
And what I have done cannot be undone.
But my mourning is not for a failure of duty.
It is for the loss of your bright beauty,
O Phaėton, O dear one, O my doomed son!

You begged to use the chariot like a new toy.
I should have refused- but you were only a boy,
Begging, with a child's bright innocent eyes,
That have made fools before me of parents more wise.
I gave you the reins, never thinking to destroy


The son I had watched over and been proud of
From the moment I saw you on earth from above,
Playing and running in the grass soft and bright.
I gave you an acknowledging crown of sunlight,
And you looked up and laughed at the touch of my love.

Dead now, and the only grave you will ever have
Is the desert that you left behind in your burned path,
Where the hooves of the horses scorch-seared the green,
And from now until world's dying death may be seen.
Though the sun may shine here, it will not laugh.

No, the anger of the sun will be harsh and clear,
Pouring over the dunes and not letting a tear
Come from the streams who could not let themselves weep
When my son fell to the king's thunderbolt sweep.
Let all of them know the sun rages in his grief here.

Though the god of music, I cannot find the words
That would let me rest, as I cannot find the birds
That are fit to mourn you, O Phaėton of the light.
And the horses stand unmoved, the horses bright.
Even a god's deepest grief leaves the world unstirred.