Theodore Stephanides
Mind Bewitchment
Upon that hill Mycenae stood —
It seems to frown upon the plain;
A daunting stillness seems to brood,
The cloud reflects a crimson stain.
The landscape whispers "Here bides Death!"
An echo mourns and rustles by,
And Clytemnestra's hissing breath
Mocks Agamemnon's dying cry.

But have we not been led astray?
Would those wild cliffs look so forlorn,
Would their grim rocks appear so gray
Had Aeschylus remained unborn?
We might have said; "That craggy mound
Gleams golden where the sunlight spills,
Bright marigolds beguile the ground,
And hark! a golden oriole trills..."
(from "Worlds in a Crucible" 1973)