A Search for Apollo

Indeed I have sought thee too long, O Apollo,
Nights and days, by brakes and bowers,
By wind-haunted waters, by wolf-haunted hollow,
And where the city smoke-cloud lowers;
And I have listened hours on hours
Where the holy Omphé of violins
The organ oracle overpowers,
While the musical tumult thickens and thins,
Till the singing women begin to sing,
Invoking as I do their Master and King;
But thou tarriest long, O Apollo!

Could I find but thy footprints, oh, there would I follow.
Thou God of wanderers show the way!
But never I found thee as yet, my Apollo,
Save indeed in a dream one day.
(If that or this be the dream, who shall say?)
A man passed playing a quaint sweet lyre,
His face was young though his hair was grey,
And his blue eyes gleamed with a wasting fire
As he sang the songs of an ancient land—
A singing no hearer could half understand.
Can this have been Thou, my Apollo?