Orpheus, Orfeo

A(nother) pair of triolets

The King does not give up the dead
Yet Orpheus goes down to sing 
The serpent stung, the woman bled 
The King had claimed his prize, the dead—
The doubting harper turned his head. 
Death has not yet lost its sting 
The King keeps still his prize, the dead 
And Orpheus no longer sings. 

His harp is hidden in the tree
His heart is buried with his wife
He plays on it and quiets beasts
The harp is singing in the trees 
The day he her again did see
His heart, his hope, his love, his life
The harp is lifted from the tree
His risen heart pursues his wife.