Round her knees her lovers yearned,

She who sat in black and gold,

What recked she who begged or burned,

Sister to the gods of old.

Darkness was her pedigree,

Light her ever living flame,

Lovers die for such as she,

Paying for her smiles with shame.

Round her head the music floats,

Black by night and gold by day;

These are Time’s inchoate notes,

Calling, “Sister, come away.”

Bride of eager-blooded gods,

Wife to man’s primeval age,

What to her shall serve these clods

Save to irk her pilgrimage?