The Pagan

SO HERE are you, and here am I,   Where we may thank our gods to be; Above the earth, beneath the sky, Naked souls alive and free. The autumn wind goes rustling by   And stirs the stubble at our feet; Out of the west it whispering blows, Stops to caress and onward goes, Bringing its earthy odours sweet. See with what pride the setting sun Kinglike in gold and purple dies, And like a robe of rainbow spun Tinges the earth with shades divine. That mystic light is in your eyes And ever in your heart will shine.