When once the bold and barren frame
     Of earth was new and dry,
And warring gods like hawks of flame
     Swept thro’ the golden sky,
The little souls that had no name,
     Crouch’d close while they went by.
So we that hold and cherish
     ‘Midst barren powers and bold,
The long, deep thoughts that perish
     Yet ever are re-told.
Low-voices among the heedless,
     Make us our gods anew,
No longer stern and needless,
     But meek as even you.
The Gods’ gift are you, dear one,
     Fruit of my fate and pain,
A dream sent out to sear us,
     And bring the dreams again.