Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/179

Rh But still among the cedars secular, Deep in the dim wood still the sun salutes The musing golden God who agelessly, Breathing no incense but the pillar'd pines Deathlessly dreams the lagging years away.

Alas, no more thro' dewy underwoods Do Dionysos' frenzy'd worshippers Dight in the dappl'd vesture of a fawn, These rosy-hued thro' Coan garment seen, These frankly white but for their ivy-crown, These wreathing verdant clusters of the vine, Purple and amber twined with trailing green, With clash of cymbal and with sobbing flute Divide the darkness with opposing song Of rousing rapture, or a low lament; But now you serve some stern ascetic God, You seem to count it shame that a form be fair, And muffle you like vestals!