Noon at Paestum
Lord of the Sea, we sun-filled creatures raise
Our hands among the clamorous weeds,—we too.
Lord of the Sun, and of the upper blue,
Of all To-morrow, and all yesterdays,
Here, where the thousand broken names and ways
Of worship are but shards we wandered through,
There is no gift to offer, or undo;
There is no prayer left in us, only praise.
Only to glory in this glory here,
Through the dead smoke of myriad sacrifice;—
To look through these blue spaces, blind and clear
Even as the seaward gaze of Homer's eyes;
And from uplifted heart, and cup, to pour
Wine to the Unknown God.—We ask no more.
Our hands among the clamorous weeds,—we too.
Lord of the Sun, and of the upper blue,
Of all To-morrow, and all yesterdays,
Here, where the thousand broken names and ways
Of worship are but shards we wandered through,
There is no gift to offer, or undo;
There is no prayer left in us, only praise.
Only to glory in this glory here,
Through the dead smoke of myriad sacrifice;—
To look through these blue spaces, blind and clear
Even as the seaward gaze of Homer's eyes;
And from uplifted heart, and cup, to pour
Wine to the Unknown God.—We ask no more.
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