The gods are dead: long live the gods! The glades of Hesperia are strewn With all their flowers and all their buds. With all their gardens fiercely boned, All the birds that sing on their way to where The finest tale of all was spun, In the domain beyond the glare!
Yet still upon our hearts they feed, Unwind from hearts that some might tread, Unbending arch of the grave’s great leaf, That strews their tales across our path.
Only across the ages come, For they do no longer speak with men; But who would ever see their height? The silence high, the statues dead.
- A E Housman