Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/130

 But dumb the goddesses underground Wait, and we hear not on earth if their feet Rise, and the night wax loud with their wings; Dumb, without word or shadow of sound; And sift in scales and winnow as wheat Men's souls, and sorrow of manifold things.

Nor less of grief than ours The gods wrought long ago To bruise men one by one; But with the incessant hours Fresh grief and greener woe Spring, as the sudden sun Year after year makes flowers; And these die down and grow, And the next year lacks none.

As these men sleep, have slept The old heroes in time fled, No dream-divided sleep; And holier eyes have wept Than ours, when on her dead Gods have seen Thetis weep, With heavenly hair far-swept Back, heavenly hands outspread Round what she could not keep,