There should be music in a place like this, And patter of delicate feet upon the dew Dancing, and shy sweet laughter flashing through Song, as a dream is broken by a kiss. Under such blossomy shade might Artemis Lean down to learn what warm-haired Leto knew, Or Dionysos lead his clamorous crew Where the cool stream should bathe their burning bliss. Ashes of dreams! . . . Turn yonder, and behold The Giant of our modern faith; whereby Ourselves, grown wiser than the gods of old, Poison the western wind with alchemy, And write with lightning on the midnight sky The golden legend of his lust for gold. |