The gods are there, they hide their lordly faces
From you that will not kneel—
Worship, and they reveal,
Call—and 'tis they!
They have not changed, nor moved from their high places,
The stars stream past their eyes like drifted spray;
Lovely to look on are they as bright gold,
They are wise with beauty, as a pool is wise.
Lonely with lilies; very sweet their eyes—
Bathed deep in sunshine are they, and very cold.