The Net of Vulcan
From peaks that clove the heavens asunder
The hunchback god with sooty claws
Loomed o’er the night, a cloud of thunder,
And hurled the net of mortal laws;
It flew, and all the world grew dimmer;
Its blackness blotted out the stars,
Then fell across the rosy glimmer
That told where Venus couched with Mars.
And, when the steeds that draw the morning
Spurned from their Orient hooves the spray,
All vainly soared the lavrock, warning
Those tangled lovers of the day:
Still with those twin white waves in blossom,
Against the warrior’s rock-broad breast,
The netted light of the foam-born bosom
Breathed like a sea at rest.
And light was all that followed after,
Light the derision of the sky,
Light the divine Olympian laughter
Of kindlier gods in days gone by:
Low to her lover whispered Venus,
“The shameless net be praised for this—
When night herself no more could screen us
It snared us one more hour of bliss.”