Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/243

 Immortal are they, clothed with powers, Not to be comforted at all; Lords over all the fruitless hours; Too great to appease, too high to appal, Too far to call.

For none shall move the most high gods, Who are most sad, being cruel; none Shall break or take away the rods Wherewith they scourge us, not as one That smites a son.

By many a name of many a creed We have called upon them, since the sands Fell through time’s hour-glass first, a seed Of life; and out of many lands Have we stretched hands.

When have they heard us? who hath known Their faces, climbed unto their feet, Felt them and found them? Laugh or groan, Doth heaven remurmur and repeat Sad sounds or sweet?

Do the stars answer? in the night Have ye found comfort? or by day Have ye seen gods? What hope, what light, Falls from the farthest starriest way On you that pray?