Where’er You Walk

Jove and Semele were not well-matched.
She was spoiled and silly. He was clever.
The things she really wanted from him were
A literal god-child, and to live for ever.

Folie de grandeur, Congreve called it. She
Sang about endless pleasure, endless love
Only to vex the ones she left on earth.
She met with touching tenderness from Jove

Who charged the weather that where’er she walked
It should turn mild and that when she sat down
The trees should never moult their shade; the fields
Should raise up flowers for her in the sun.

He stroked her as he said it, and his voice
Was low with love. The bliss he guaranteed
Could have come true if only for a while,
Could, he thought, give her all that she would need.

Something else happened. She had asked for it.
Jove in his thorough self made love to her.
His lightning burned her flesh, ousted her breath.
She lay as ashes with the Thunderer.

One legend says she went to hell for this.
Another saves her inexplicably.
She is last seen with what she wanted most:
A baby god and immortality.