And thither in the splendid nights of spring, When stars in legions over heaven are flung, Shall come the ancient gods, all wondering Why he sings not that had so richly sung: There Heracles with peaceful foot shall press The springing herbage, and Hephæstus strong, Hera and Aphrodite’s loveliness, And the great giver of the choric song. And thither, after weary pilgrimage, From unknown lands beyond the hoary wave, Shall travellers through every coming age Approach to pluck a blossom from his grave: Some in the flush of youth, or in the prime, Whose life is still as heapèd gold to spend, And some who have drunk deep of grief and time, And who yet linger half-afraid the end. The Interlude It was upon a night of spring, Even the time when first do sing The new-returnèd nightingales; Whenas all hills and woods and dales Are resonant with melody Of songs that die not, but shall be Unto the latest hour of time Beyond the life of word or rime— Whenas all brooks more softly flow Remembering lovers long ago That stood upon their banks and vowed, And love was with them like a cloud: There came one out of Athens town In a spun robe, with sandals brown, Just when the white ship of the moon Had first set sail, and many a rune Was written in the argent stars; His feet were set towards the hills Because he knew that there the rills Ran down like jewels, and fairy cars Galloped, maybe, among the dells, And airy sprites wove fitful spells Of gossamer and cold moonshine Which do most mistily entwine: And ever the hills called, and a voice Cried: “Soon, maybe, comes thy choice Twixt mortal immortality Such as shall never be again, ’Twixt the most passionate-pleasant pain And all the quiet, barren joys That old men prate about to boys.” ―――― He wandered many nights and days— Whose morns were always crystal clear, As lay the world in still amaze Enchanted of the springing year, And all the nights with wakeful eyes Watched for another dawn to rise— Till at the last the mountain tops Received him, which like giant props Stand, lest the all-encircling sky Fall down, and men be crushed and die. And so he reached a curvèd hill Whereon the hornèd moon did seem Her richest radiance to spill In an inestimable stream, Like jewels rare of countless price, Or wizard magic turned to ice. ――――