And hell beneath the shadow of thy wing,
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
What thing rejects thy mastery? Who so bold
But at thine altars in the dusk they sue?
Even the straight pale goddess, silver-stoled,
That kissed Endymion when the spring was new,
To thee did homage in her own despite,
When in the shadow of her wings of white
She slid down trembling from her moonèd ring
To where the Latmian youth lay slumbering,