Poems
Our gods are not their gods—
We worship alone
Pale Dæmons and sere gods
Unpæaned, unknown—
Whose favour no incense may quicken, whose anger no prayer may atone,
We worship alone
Pale Dæmons and sere gods
Unpæaned, unknown—
Whose favour no incense may quicken, whose anger no prayer may atone,
Not radiant Apollo,
Whose voice if men long
To hear and to follow
With glory of song,
Will scatter their souls as the sea-flakes, as foam when the tempest is strong.
Whose voice if men long
To hear and to follow
With glory of song,
Will scatter their souls as the sea-flakes, as foam when the tempest is strong.
But a god of hushed weeping,
Of terrible mirth,
For ever unsleeping—
Of terrible mirth,
For ever unsleeping—
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