| What though the gods of the eld be dead, Here are the mountains of azure and snow, Here are the valleys where loves are wed, And lilies in blow. |
| Here are the hands that are lucid, sweet, Wound at the wrist with an amber beading, Folds of the seafoam to cover the feet, Mortals misleading. |
| Down to the opaline lips of the sea Wander the lost ones, fallen but mighty, Stretching out hands, crying, “Turn unto me, O Aphrodite!” |
| See where they lift up their faces and scan, Over the wave-heaps, thy coming; despite thee, Thou canst not fetter the soul of a man, O Aphrodite! |
| Nay, but our bodies we bend, and we give All that the heart hath, loving, not knowing Whether the best is to die or to live, Coming or going. |
| We shall be taken, but thou shalt live on, Swallowed in sea-drifts that never affright thee; Smiling, thou’lt lift up thy sweet hands alone, Ah, Aphrodite! |
| Over thy face is a veil of white sea-mist, Only thine eyes shine like stars; bless or blight me, I will hold close to the leash at thy wrist, O Aphrodite! |
| Rosy and proud are the skies of the East, Love-dowered moons to enswathe thee, delight thee: Thy days and our days—are thine then the least, O Aphrodite? |
| Thou in the East and I here in the West, Under our newer skies purple and pleasant: Who shall decide which is better, attest, Saga or peasant? |
| Thou with Serapis, Osiris, and Isis, I with Jehovah, in vapours and shadows; Thou with the gods’ joy-enhancing devices, Sweet-smelling meadows. |
| What is there given us?—Food and some raiment, Toiling to reach to a Patmian haven, Giving up all for uncertain repayment, Feeding the raven. |
| Striving to peer through the infinite azure, Alternate turning to earthward and falling, Measuring life with Damastian measure, Finite, appalling. |
| What does it matter! They passed who with Homer Poured out the wine at the feet of their idols: Passing, what found they? To-come a misnomer, It and their idols? |
| Who knows, ah, who knows! Here in this garden, Heliotrope, hyacinth, soft suns to light me, Leaning out, peering, thou, thou art my warden— Thou, Aphrodite! |
| Up from the future of all things there come, Marching abreast in their stately endeavour, Races unborn, to the beat of the drum, Of the Forever. |
| Resting not, beating down all the old traces, Falls the light step of the new-coming nations, Burning on altars of our loved graces, Their new oblations. |
| What shall we know of it, we who have lifted Up the dark veil, done sowing and reaping; What shall we care if our burdens be shifted, Waking or sleeping? |
| Sacristan, acolyte, player or preacher, Each to his office, but who holds the key? Death, only death, thou, the ultimate teacher, Will show it to me. |
| I am, Thou art, and the strong-speaking Jesus, One in the end of an infinite truth?— Eyes of a prophet or sphinx may deceive us, Bearing us ruth, |
| But when the forts and the barriers fall, Shall we not find One, the true, the almighty, Wisely to speak with the worst of us all, O Aphrodite? |
| Waiting, I turn from the futile, the human, Gone is the life of me, laughing with youth; Steals to learn all in the face of a woman, Mendicant Truth. |