Maker of Gods. A novice at the trade,

He made God out of winds and thunder clouds,

The unpropitious seasons, threatening moons,

And the invisible ambuscade of death.

Poor frightened babe, he worshiped with a wail,

Clutching his mother earth, and in her face

Burying his fears. Then childlike artist grown

He craved for form, and from the shapes around

Contorted fair the figure of himself,

Moulded his deities in wood and stone

Around his bed, his banquet board, his tomb

As yet a bungler, but when youth infused

Into the sap and marrow of his brain

The vernal subtleties of love, he dreamed

Of gods as fair as he himself would be,

Majestic, abstract, yet with solid power

To make a goddess tremble; and behold,

Under the yearning passion of his thought

The embryonic marble sloughed its shell,

And gods of strength and beauty trod the earth,

Their foreheads high in heaven.”