And all day long their floating wings made beauty
About the temple and the whispering laurels,
And their shrill notes, with the sea's ceaseless murmur,
Rose in sweet chorus to the great god's ears.
Now round the temple went the men of Cymé,
Tore down the nests and snared the building swallows,
And a wild wind went moaning through the branches.
The sun-light died, and all the sky grew gray.
Men shivered in the disenchanted noontide,