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O Strength and Force, for you the hest of Zeus

Is done, is clench'd, beyond impediment;

But I lack heart to bind perforce a god,

My kin, against some winter-beaten gorge.

Even so necessity must find me heart:

Ill comes of dallying with the Father's word.

O son of right-areading Themis, deep

In counsel, no less unto me than thee

Comes anguish, when with brass not lightly loosed

I pin thee to this hill, remote from men,

Where thou no voice, no human lineament

Shalt see, but broiling in the sun's fierce brightness

Shalt change thy favour, hailing still the hour,

When spangle-vestured Night shall veil the light,

And that, when Day dispels the early rime.

Yea, every hour, being present, shall be pain

To wear thee:—the deliverer is not yet.

Such harvest dost thou reap from love of men.