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The sacrifice is gone and the sound of joy,

The dancing under the stars and the night-long prayer:

The Golden Images and the Moons of Troy,

The Twelve Moons and the mighty names they bear:

My heart, my heart crieth, O Lord Zeus on high,

Were they all to thee as nothing, thou thronèd in the sky,

Thronèd in the fire-cloud, where a City, near to die,

Passeth in the wind and the flare?

Dear one, O husband mine,

Thou in the dim dominions

Driftest with waterless lips,

Unburied; and me the ships

Shall bear o'er the bitter brine,

Storm-birds upon angry pinions,

Where the towers of the Giants shine

O'er Argos cloudily,

And the riders ride by the sea.

And children still in the Gate

Crowd and cry,

A multitude desolate,

Voices that float and wait

As the tears run dry: