The sweet sleep of centuries was over,
If only as in dream; if only a mortal
Summer woke them out of endless death.
The grey eyes of Athene, flashing slowly,
Demanded of Hermes more than he could tell.
“It was not I that roused you.” Hermes pondered,
Tightening his sandals. “All at once,
And equally, we woke. Apollo there—”
The musical man-slayer listened and frowned—
“And Ares, and foam-loving Aphrodite