Of all the ages' gain, the ages' loss,
A wealth of wonders and so much away--
When now hears one the woodland elves at play,
Or angry dryads where tall tree-tops toss.
No more they lightly tread the dewy moss
As danced they through cool haunts in ecstasy;
But rank and lost the paths in lone decay
Where fairy footsteps once were wont to cross.

O, happy Greeks, who knew the gods so well,
To you I burn my sacrificial fire!
Again reveal the mystic hidden rune
Whereby to find the slopes of asphodel--
Ah, then to hear Apollo charm his lyre
And see Diana 'neath the sickle moon.