Only for evermore the morning lutes
Of loneliness and most unhappy love.
For once, in times I know not of, you too
Have loved and sorrowed, as your heart would say,
Mourning at dusk among your golden Isles.
I cannot call on mine old gods, for they
Have lived so far from Earth, they scarce would know
The odour of my incense, nor how white
My piteous altars stand; for as the Moon
Smiles sadly disempassioned over men