Ganymede

“When Ganymede was caught up to Heaven, he let fall his pipe, on which he was playing to his sheep.”—Alexander Ross, Myst. Poet.

Upon the Phrygian hill
He sate, and on his reed the shepherd play’d.
Sunlight and calm: noon in the dreamy glade,
Noon on the lulling rill.

He saw not, where on high
The noiseless eagle of the Heavenly King
Rested,—till rapt upon the rushing wing
Into the golden sky.

When the bright Nectar Hall
And the still brows of bended gods he saw,
In the quick instinct both of shame and awe
His hand the reed let fall.

Soul! that a thought divine
Bears into heaven,—thy first ascent survey!
What charm’d thee most on earth is cast away;—
To soar—is to resign!