"Brothers, it is not long;

Ten thousand summers past.

We shall outlive the last;

With terror in his train,

Shall be alone again."

That has known many springs and many petals fall

And the statue and the pond and the low, broken wall.

Peace floats on the ruins of ancient festival;

And a sky silver-blue arches over all.

With desires faint and formless; and, seeking not, I find

Across the luminous tranquil mirror of the mind.

Whom love and worship both would praise,

The image of your fearless ways!

Your chivalrous casque of ebon hair,

Your supple shoulders and hands that dare?

Your sword of innocence, flaming, huge,

Within the ports of subterfuge.

With your sharp spear of virgin will

O huntress who could never kill,

Swift, swift, you fly with burning cheek

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