A Pagan

There is more light than I prayed for. I loved the dark 
And the glow-worm lighting my feet with her friendly shine,
And yonder far on the hills the fading spark 
Of a fire that I lighted for unknown gods of mine. 

The mound is emptied of bones, of its urns the barrow 
Because of the daylight the oak is forlorn of its god: 
The way of a bird in the air, the fall of a sparrow 
Is barren of wonder; and barren of grass the clod. 

Sad sobs the sea forsaken of Aphrodite; 
Hellas and Helen are not, and the slow sands fall, 
Gods that were gracious and lovely, gods that were mighty. 
Sky and sea and silence resume them all. 

Hid are they all in the sky that no one can scale, 
Lost is the voice of the sunset that uttered our sorrow: 
Sweetest for me is the rose that is tattered and pale, 
And what to me is the rose that shall blossom to-morrow?